


Absolution

by tahitianmangoes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Violence, Period-Typical Racism, Racist Language, Sex, Stillbirth, but follows the same plot as the game more or less
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27966101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahitianmangoes/pseuds/tahitianmangoes
Summary: Micah often felt like he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin. Whether or not Artur shared that sentiment,  he didn't know but ever since an encounter out west, inexplicably they keep finding themselves pulled back to one and other.
Relationships: Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 22
Kudos: 72





	1. Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic on and off for months so I felt like there was no time like the present to get the ball rolling with it, especially since all my Micah fics and Morbell fics have been received well in the past.  
> I can't guarantee how fast I'll update as I love this story and want to do my best for it. Some things are still being ironed out, tags and triggers will be added as we go along.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this and please don't forget to comment and kudos!!

It was hard to believe that less than a day ago, they had been in the sticky New Austin heat and now, Micah Bell was spending the night freezing his balls off in some godforsaken outhouse half way up a mountain with Bill Williamson snoring loudly beside him. 

Things turn on a dime, Micah knew that better than most.

Micah doesn’t sleep. He’d been part of the Van der Linde gang for around six months and that was probably one of the few things that people really knew about him. No one cared to ask why he didn’t sleep, not that Micah would tell them anyway.  
He would usually sit around the campfire, sharpening his hunting knife or cleaning his revolvers. Sometimes sleep would get the better of him and he’d be woken up by the sudden jerk of his head falling forward onto his chest and that’s when he would hear it - that voice that still struck fear into him even twenty years on: _Do it!” The voice screamed at him, “prove to me you ain’t the yella bellied coward you say you aint, boy!”_

Just one day ago, Micah had been doing just that, sitting at the campfire in their camp outside of Blackwater. His hat was pulled low but he was listening, he usually was; he could hear John Marston and Abigail Roberts squabbling as usual, he could hear Lenny and Jenny twittering like lovebirds and Reverend Swanson’s drunken singing off in the distance somewhere. 

It was Dutch and Hosea that Micah was listening to, though. They were arguing in Dutch’s tent. Dutch was playing his gramophone in a bid to muffle them but Micah didn’t have to hear them to know what it was about; Hosea didn’t think they should do the ferry job the next day. Hosea and Arthur had a lead, what it was Micah hadn’t asked but probably something akin to a theatre vaudeville performance if he knew Hosea Matthews at all.  
Micah wasn’t a fan of all of the conmanship - it felt underhand. Of course doing what he did, going in all guns blazing, was no better but it didn’t feel as sly - you knew where you stood with a gun being pointed at your head. 

Micah was told that Dutch and Hosea used to have more of a united front, in more ways than one but it looked to Micah as if this had run its course. 

To Micah, Dutch and Hosea seemed so very different; Dutch was charismatic, charming and spoke such pretty words and had big ideas. He was an optimist, believing that he could change the world and Micah believed him, so did everyone else for the most part.  
Hosea on the other hand was a pessimist. He sat around the camp with a dark cloud over him, picking Dutch’s plans apart and doubting him at every turn. Dutch, of course, was as patient as a saint with his partner - more than lenient with him in Micah’s opinion - but even a saint has their limits. 

So Dutch had proceeded without Hosea this time, entrusting Micah with helping him with this job. It didn’t go unchecked by Micah that this was a big deal; he had been part of the gang for less than a year yet Dutch trusted him to help him with this job. He had to do his best to impress Dutch because who knew where this could lead…

Micah had never known the gang so quiet or sombre the night before a big job. Some people retired early but Micah knew they weren't sleeping, they just didn't want to talk about it. Charles disappeared for guard duty, Javier wasn’t playing guitar and Arthur lay with his hat over his face so Micah couldn't see him but he had a feeling that he was listening hard to Dutch and Hosea too.

For a few moments, Micah let his attention settle on Arthur Morgan - Dutch’s right hand man. Arthur didn't like Micah much but Micah got the impression that Arthur didn't like many people. Arthur had intrigued Micah ever since Micah had joined the gang. From what he understood, Arthur had been taken in by Dutch and Hosea when he was just a kid - it sounded like something out of a boyhood dream, to be taken care of and raised by outlaws… Whether Arthur was grateful or not, it wasn't clear; he was sullen and surly, got that moody cowboy thing down to a T. Always complaining about something or other. He was as stubborn as a mule and as dumb as a dog yet Micah was drawn to him inexplicably.

Maybe if things had worked out differently, he would have been more like Arthur. If his daddy had been a fine man like Dutch. Maybe Micah and Arthur were two sides of the same coin… Micah wondered if Arthur saw that they weren't so different, too. Regardless, Arthur avoided Micah wherever possible, especially after what had happened out at Gaptooth Ridge…

Micah let his thoughts settle back there for a while. It wasn't a particularly happy memory but one he played over and over to himself, trying to work out what it meant. Maybe it didn't matter anymore. So why did he keep thinking about it? Letting himself get lost in the gentle morning sunlight again and again when he closed his eyes, imagining Arthur lying beside him, feeling the heat coming from the younger man and remembering the look in those brilliant blue eyes...

He often wondered if Arthur thought about it too. Right now, in the small, delipidated building on the mountain, he thought of Arthur in the next building over and wondered if Arthur couldn't sleep either. 

****

Sooner or later, a job's going to go wrong and boy oh boy, did the ferry job go wrong. Maybe they'd been set up because no sooner had the ferry been too far out for them to retreat, there were Pinkertons and lawmen everywhere. Everyone had been whipped into a frenzy, John Marston , Mac Callander, Davey Callander and Jenny Kirk had all gotten shot and the latter hadn't made it out alive. Charles Smith injured himself and Sean Maguire was taken captive by some bounty hunters. And then Dutch shot that girl...

It was a mess. Micah had never seen a job go so wrong so quickly, not since him and his daddy...

They'd managed to flee to camp, to pack up in record time though things were lost and misplaced along the way and Dutch told them that they were heading north.  
"North?" Hosea repeated looking sceptical.  
"North." Dutch replied firmly. "We gotta get outta here and we got get outta here fast."  
"What... What happened on that boat, Dutch?" Hosea asked sheepishly.  
Dutch turned his dark eyes to his partner and said solemnly, "nothing good."

Dutch had meant north as they headed deep into the mountains of Ambarino. Soon, a terrible storm set in. The snow swirled around them and Miah could hardly see three paces in front of him if it weren’t for his lantern. He followed the caravan blindly, his loyal Missouri Foxtrotter Baylock stepping carefully through the snow that came almost to the horse’s forearm. 

He accompanied Arthur and Dutch in the hopeless pursuit for supplies once they found somewhere to settle. All they found was O'Driscolls and another mouth to feed, a woman named Sadie Adler. Exhausted and freezing, Micah curled up on the floor of the building he'd been delegated to with Bill Williamson, Lenny Summers and Charles Smith. He dozed for a short while but he heard that voice again, piercing his slumber and jerked awake to find that light was seeping in through the cracks in the rotting wood of the structure.

That next day was calmer, as if the storm before had never happened. Outside was bright, the cold sun reflecting off of the untouched snow. 

Javier Escuella shivered around a small fire. He’d been outside all night on guard duty. Javier was warmer to Micah than Arthur or even Hosea. He wasn’t brooding or stoic, he could take a drink and a joke and Micah liked that about him. 

He wasn’t dressed for the cold, a poncho slung over his shoulders and a denim jacket the only thing between him and the sub-zero temperature only made worse by being sent up a mountain earlier that morning with Arthur to rescue John Marston who’d gone and got himself lost in the storm.

“Are you taking me off?” Javier asked, tired eyes looking hopefully at Micah.  
“Dream on,” Micah replied gruffly. There was no way he was taking up guard duty out in the cold without orders from Dutch.  
Javier narrowed his eyebrows, looked like he might want to argue but maybe didn’t have the energy. 

Micah warmed his hands briefly by the fire, not that he could feel them and if he didn’t hold them out in front of him, he could have sworn that they had fallen off in the night. Javier muttered something inaudible before disappearing towards the stables. 

They had managed to find a place up on this godforsaken mountain, a place that could hold all of them - for now. It looked to have been a mining town at one point but long abandoned now, most of the buildings still stood but were derelict, some beyond repair. They wouldn’t be able to stay for long - sure Pinkertons might not be dumb enough to follow them up here but they’d most likely starve, freeze to death or both if they didn’t leave soon. 

Micah never thought he’d miss their camp out of Blackwater, god knows he’d been complaining about wanting four walls and a roof over his head but he hadn’t factored in the snow...

As Micah moved away from the fire, he could hear voices coming from the next building. He recognised the familiar low rumbles of Arthur Morgan. Before Micah had time to move, Arthur and Dutch spilled outside, Hosea hovering in the doorway.

“Arthur, we’ll starve up here,” Dutch was saying. His voice had changed over the past couple of days - he sounded tired, desperate in a way but not yet defeated.  
“Dutch, I ain’t no hunter.”  
“I know, son. But we got no supplies here - Miss Grimshaw and Mr Pearson did their best but… We got a few cans from the Alder woman’s homestead and we can’t ask Charles to hunt with his hand in the state it is…”  
“I don’t know what I can do.”  
Dutch looked up and caught sight of Micah “Take Mr Belll here with you, go scouting. There’s gotta be something else up on this miserable mountain,” he said. Micah knew he was grasping at straws if he was suggesting that the pair of them went out scouting together.  
Arthur heaved a sigh, not needing to say anything.  
Dutch continued, “You’re two of the fittest men we got …I wouldn't normally ask like this. Please, son. We gotta try. People are dependin' on us.”

His voice was soft and coaxing, he usually used that voice when he wanted something from Arthur and Arthur usually fell for it. This time was no different.  
“Fine.” Arthur muttered in a tone that suggested that it was anything but fine.

The pair of them looked at each other; it wasn't the fact they were being asked to go scouting but the fact they were asked to go together.

****

They rode in silence for what seemed like a long, long time, Arthur just up ahead of Micah, obviously not interested in small talk. 

These mountains were all but barren - they saw some deer that fled too quickly for either Micah or Arthur to pull their rifle out, heard the echoes of a distant grizzly bear washing over them periodically but nothing else. 

"Maybe we should just head back now." Micah suggested after over an hour of them riding away from camp and seeing nothing but more snow. The sun would soon be going down and the last thing they needed was to be stumbling about in the dark.  
"Jus a little further…" Arthur muttered. Micah knew Arthur didn't want to let Dutch down - he never did. 

So they carried on, climbing and following a trail so buried by snow it was barely visible. Once they reached the top of the climb, a basin came into view - a frozen lake surrounded by trees whose leaves had never cared to grow back and at the top of the frozen lake was a small cabin.

The pair urged their horses towards the cabin, a spark of hope for the first time in days. Arthur went to knock on the door only for it to swing open at his touch.  
The cabin consisted of one room: a small cot was pushed up against one wall, a table was in the centre of the room beside a fireplace. There were various cupboards and chairs but not much else. It looked like someone had been there once upon a time but not now. Everything looked to be covered by a thick layer of dust but there were provisions - mainly canned goods. On the table was rancid bread and cheese that was covered by mould and newspaper clippings that when Micah inspected them, saw they were from three years prior.

"Well, looks like they won't miss this stuff," Micah said more to himself than Arthur as they set about taking whatever they could. It wasn't a huge haul but it would be enough to feed them for a day or two when added to what they found in the Adler house. “This oughta keep us goin’ til we get off this goddamn mountain.”

There was a pause before Arthur shot back, “we wouldn't be stuck on this _goddamn mountain_ if it weren't for you."

Micah turned to look at Arthur now. He was older than Arthur by around five years, they were around the same height, give or take an inch or so, both blond however Arthur’s hair was more a fawn colour and looked soft to the touch. Both had blue eyes, Micah’s icy and Arthur’s rich like the ocean. He was broader and more muscular than Micah who was perhaps thirty pounds heavier than Arthur and couldn’t boast of the same brawny frame as the younger man.  
Arthur was handsome, even if he couldn’t see it. Maybe Micah resented that, resented the way that his uncomplicated good looks often made things easier - women around the camp didn’t look at Arthur with the same _repulsion_ they did Micah and maybe even Arthur’s looks meant that he was treated more favourably by Hosea and Dutch - not having to go on guard duty, always getting a tent with a cot and having any mistakes he made glossed over so easily...

_Different sides of the same coin_

Micah drew himself up to his full height before responding. “And how'd you come to that conclusion, cowpoke?” Micah asked, rolling his eyes at Arthur. Arthur always had something to say about him or the way he conducted himself.

“If you hadn’t egged Dutch on with all the ferry crap, we’d be well on our way to gettin’ ourselves some land. Me an’ Hosea had it covered-”  
“Sure looks that way,” Micah retorted with a sneer, “what was it this time? Hosea pretendin’ to be an college professor or maybe a magician? And you his pretty assistant? Or maybe you was both dressin’ up as ladies and stealin’ from a church fund?”  
“I have had enough of you!” Arthur snapped, “all you done since you joined us is cause problems, an’ now we lost Jenny, Davey, maybe Sean and Mac too!”  
“Less mouths to feed don’t sound like a problem to me, cowpoke.”

Arthur made a sound similar to a growl. Micah saw his fists ball, Arthur was the type to settle his scores with fights rather than words, maybe because words so often illuded him.  
Micah smirked. “Go on then cowboy, show me what you got.”

Micah saw the thought flicker through Arthur’s eyes briefly like lightning in the night’s sky and then he decided against it.

He turned, heading back to the door of the cabin muttering about going back to camp. When he flung the door open, the light had dwindled considerably quicker than either of the could have imagined and snow was coming down in thick, heavy flurries.  
“Shit!” Arthur hissed.  
“Well,” Micah sighed, heading to the door too and surveying the magnitude of the situation, “don’t look like we’re goin’ anywhere fast, sweetheart. Jus’ you an’ me now.”

****

There were logs that had been left by the previous tenant that Arthur threw into the fireplace and proceeded to light. The pair of them sat close to the fire, the night had drawn in fast and not only was it the only source of heat in the small cabin, it was also the only source of light. 

Micah could see that Arthur was shivering, his arms folded flush across his chest and jaw tight. He glared into the fire. “I’m freezin’ my ass off,” He grumbled.  
“Well we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Micah replied with a hint of snideness about his voice. Arthur shot him a look colder than out in the storm but Micah continued, maybe because he liked to see Arthur squirm. “You ain't cuddlin' up to me to keep warm if that’s what you want.”  
“I’d rather die o’ hypothermia than let you anywhere near me.”  
But they both knew that wasn't true.

Both knew the other was thinking about Gaptooth Ridge again now.  
It was all Micah had thought about since the day it had happened. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in their tent, panting and moaning softly with Arthur’s lips on his like nothing else in the world mattered, and perhaps didn’t even exist anymore. He could hear trains rumbling in the distance and condors circling above, the warm air enveloped him just as Arthur’s smoky scent did and everything in the world was still aside from his racing heart. 

“When we gonna talk about it, Morgan?” Micah asked without even thinking. He’d wanted to ask Arthur for weeks but Arthur had been avoiding him even more than usual. He felt so weak caving and asking first. He didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be; did he want this to be a _thing_? No. That wasn’t Micah’s style… Yet… He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about Arthur. About the way they had been together that day. 

“Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.” Came Arthur’s gruff reply.  
Micah let out a snort of disbelieving laughter, “ain’t there?”  
“No. There ain’t.”

Arthur got to his feet now and walked to the back of the cabin, Micah's eyes followed him. Micah watched as Arthur leant against the wall and nonchalantly lit up a cigarette and smoked it, not looking at Micah but watching the tip of the cigarette burning down in his fingers between drags. 

“Bullshit.” Micah said hotly, squaring up to Arthur. “You’re talking bullshit as usual.”  
“I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout it, Micah. As far as I’m concerned, it didn’t even happen. It was nothing.”  
A twisted smirk crept across Micah’s face. He wanted to play it the hard way, huh? “That ain’t what you was sayin’ when you had my dick in your mouth.”  
Arthur’s eyes flashed and his face turned stony. “You watch what you say to me.” He growled.  
Micah wasn’t about to back down, his body pumped with adrenaline. “What would ol’ Dutch say if he knew what you got up to? Or does he know you like to get on your knees-”

Before Micah could finish his sentence, Arthur had grabbed him by the collars and pushed Micah up against the wall with such force that his hat toppled from his head. Micah would have laughed if the wind hadn’t been knocked from him.  
Arthur threw his cigarette to the floor and that hand found its way to Micah’s throat. Micah’s eyes flickered, Arthur was panting, they stared at each other wordlessly. Micah still wore his lopsided smirk, as if willing Arthur to do it.

Arthur’s brows were knitted together, eyes mean and jaw clenched. He looked like he would kill Micah. Micah didn’t doubt that he could. 

Before Micah knew it, Arthur had pushed his lips to Micah’s in a kiss. Micah made a sound - a groan. Oh, how he’d longed for this again, thought maybe it would never happen and that their time out at Gaptooth Ridge had been a one off, one of those crazy things that never happen again no matter how hard the yearning.  
Arthur kissed hungrily, one hand still pressed against Micah’s throat and Micah kissed back eagerly, tongue sliding into Arthur’s mouth and Arthur permitted it with a sigh, as if he had been longing for this too. 

Micah brought his hands up, cupping Arthur’s face, the skin cold, the stubble scratching against his fingertips and Arthur shivered at his touch. Arthur removed his hand from where it rested now so Micah could breathe again and tugged Micah’s head back by his hair, exposing his neck so he could kiss it bruisingly, making Micah gasp.

He placed his hands on Arthur’s broad shoulders, fingers curling around the thick material of Arthur’s winter coat, submitting to the younger outlaw, almost paralysed in pleasure at the feeling of Arthur’s hot mouth - tongue licking and teeth grazing - sucking at the sensitive skin of his neck. 

He felt Arthur wedge his thigh between his legs and his hips moved instinctively before he could stop himself. The friction was delicious, Micah was uncomfortably hard in his pants already and he let out a soft moan at the relief Arthur’s leg provided. He heard Arthur growl into the crook of his neck.  
They remained like that, Micah shuddering as he rutted against Arthur and Arthur biting at Micah, hard enough to leave bruises, hands groping at him through his clothes, making Micah sigh and moan. 

Suddenly, Arthur ripped away from him. Micah panted, whimpering quietly- unsatisfied. His breath visible in front of him in the cold, cold cabin but the heat between them was like a furnace. Micah stared at Arthur, for once lost for words. Arthur’s expression was unreadable. Had Arthur come to his senses? 

Perhaps not. Arthur’s gaze was fixed on the bulge in Micah’s pants. He was hesitant as he reached to press his hand against it but Micah didn’t stop him, of course not. He had wanted this, hadn’t he? 

It didn’t go unnoticed by Micah that Arthur’s fingers seemed to tremble as he unbuttoned Micah’s pants and freed his erection. Micah turned away at this, slightly embarrassed at how hard he was. He could hear Arthur’s breaths heavy and hard before he felt the other man’s hand wrap around his cock. 

Arthur held him firmly. Micah let out a sound, higher pitched than normal. He felt his cheeks burn but he didn’t have time to feel embarrassed, the feel of Arthur’s hand on him so starkly made him quake. And then Arthur’s hand moved, grip strong as he pumped Micah’s cock.  
“M-Morgan..!” Micah choked.  
Arthur's shimmering eyes met Micah's, as if asking for permission to continue. Micah didn't say anything, he leant his forehead against Arthur's shoulder and let his hips rock into Arthur's hand. 

Arthur stroked him fast, making Micah's breath catch in his throat. He found himself clinging to Arthur, clawing at the other man's wide back as he tried to stop himself calling out. He felt Arthur's lips on his neck again, kissing along the exposed collarbone to his shoulder. Arthur's name tumbled from Micah's lips like the snow from the sky outside. 

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for Micah's orgasm to coil in his stomach. He found himself moving faster, rutting helplessly against Arthur as he began to shiver, knowing he couldn't hold on any longer. He tried to stifle himself as he came, burying his face in Arthur's neck, taking in Arthur's strong musky scent of gunpowder, cigarettes and whiskey. 

He stayed like that for a few moments, blood pounding in his ears, eyes closed trying to compose himself. Arthur didn’t move either, they leant against each other. It was Arthur that moved away first. Part of Micah wished Arthur would stay like that just a little longer. 

Micah’d gone soft now, his release was on his pants, on the floor and on Arthur’s pants, too. When he looked back up at Arthur, he could tell that the younger man wasn’t finished with him just yet. He had a dark look in his eyes that Micah wasn’t sure he had seen before. Arthur didn’t say a word, his eyes still fixed on Micah’s. It was his turn to unbutton his pants now and then, he laid his hand on Micah’s shoulder, gently but firmly pushing Micah down to his knees. Micah didn’t resist. 

Arthur’s length was strainingly hard and tip slick with precum as he freed his cock from his undergarments. Micah'd seen it before, of course; part of him had known that Arthur’s cock would be generous in size and he had been right about that in both length and girth.  
Micah had never felt an urge quite like it, an instinct almost, to take it into his mouth and suck. Tentatively, he touched the reddened skin of Arthur’s throbbing erection, it was burning hot under his fingertips.  
He wet his lip before he opened his mouth and as he did, Arthur grabbed a fistful of his hair and stuffed his length down Micah’s throat without giving him a chance to adjust. Micah made a choked sound and tears instantly filled his eyes at the stretch from the sheer size of Arthur. Arthur didn’t relent. Micah knew this was punishment but part of him didn’t even care, there was something about having Arthur above him like this , powerful, doing his best to repress his moans that turned him on.

Arthur didn't talk, just fisting Micah’s hair and snapping his hips forward rhythmically so he can fuck the older outlaw’s throat. They didn't talk last time either, just their touches had been enough. Micah's gags and heavy breathing filled the room along with Arthur's low growls and soft curses. As the length hit the back of Micah’s throat, Arthur hissed and _fuck_ , that sounds made Micah’s own cock twitch awake again.  
Micah felt his face redden, he could feel the drool and precome spilling from the sides of his mouth and his jaw ached. He tried to steady Arthur, putting his hands on Arthur’s strong thighs, using them as an anchor so he can bob his head back and forth on the length, sucking as best he knew how, using his tongue to pressure the underside of the shaft like the whores he’d used before had done to him… like Arthur had done to him before.

He closed his eyes now, getting used to breathing through his nose. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard, drawing back to pay attention to the tip and then taking as much of the length in its entirety at a time. He used his tongue to flick the tip, let his throat and jaw go slack so Arthur could press in further until he felt the younger man shiver.

Arthur groaned softly, when Micah looked up, Arthur's eyes were closed and his face was a sheer portrait of perfection - lost in a rhapsody of bliss. Micah took hold of his throbbing cock now, needing some relief and as he did, Arthur gasped, hips stuttering, eyes open now, a flash of blue as he cursed loudly, _"shit, Micah!"_ and spilled himself into Micah’s mouth. 

Micah retched at the taste but was taken by surprise, swallowing the majority of it and coughing as Arthur pulled out. Arthur’s breathing was hard as he moved away from Micah and tucked himself back into his pants. Micah remained on his knees and wiped his mouth. He stared after Arthur who returned to the fireside, composing himself. 

Arthur didn't look back at him as he spoke. “Now we’re even.” Arthur said almost emotionlessly.  
Micah didn’t want to admit it to himself but it hurt.


	2. I Scratch Your Back, You Scratch Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times..?

The new camp was called Horseshoe Overlook, Hosea said he’d been this way before a while ago. It was further east than Dutch had ever wanted to go but right now, it didn’t matter what direction they were going as long as it was the opposite of any Pinkertons still on their tail. 

It was a nice camp, away from prying eyes in the Heartlands. Micah himself hadn’t been too far this way before, maybe a couple of years ago with some people he used to run with but he hadn't seen them in a long time… Last time he heard, they were stuck in Sisika penitentiary.

However, the Heartlands it seemed, was infested with O’Driscolls; spilling out of the local saloon, camping out in the fields between where they were and right to the border with Lemoyne. Not ideal but nothing they couldn’t handle, the O’Driscolls were small fry in comparison to what had happened on that boat in Blackwater. 

Arthur hadn't said a word since the cabin. Micah didn't know what to say either.  
Arthur had curled up by the fireplace and slept after their encounter. Micah spent all night staring into the flames until his eyes smarted and the sun rose. 

Micah had left Arthur asleep and ridden back to Colter with the supplies he’d found. When asked about Arthur he shrugged. Dutch seemed concerned but he also seemed to recognise that he shouldn’t question the matter. 

Since moving to Horseshoe Overlook, there hadn’t been much time to talk to anyone, let alone Arthur. Maybe Arthur was right, they were even now and that was the end of the matter… So why did Micah keep thinking about it, playing it in his mind over and over like one of those flickery, moving pictures that people went to see? 

If anything, that night in the cabin had made it worse. He could kid himself that at Gaptooth Ridge, it had been a one off, maybe they’d both just been frustrated - god knows it’s hard enough to get five minutes privacy to take care of yourself when you’re in a gang of twenty other people who always want something from you… But the way Arthur had pushed him flush to the wall and looked at him with intent in that cabin, like there was more to it than just having Micah suck his cock… But Micah didn’t know what and almost didn’t dare ask. 

***

"Mr Morgan!" Susan Grimshaw's voice was piercing as she called Arthur from across the camp. Micah looked up from the table where he sat by Pearson's wagon playing solitaire.  
"One of the girls said she saw your friend _Miss Gillis_ around Valentine..."  
"Mary?!" Arthur repeated.

Micah’s hat hid his face so they couldn’t see him looking up from his card game. Arthur had been busy since they got to the new camp, everyone had been really, all working to make back the money they lost in Blackwater. But it was rare for Arthur to be in camp during the day. If Micah had meant more to Arthur, he might have thought that the younger man was avoiding him. But he knew that wasn’t the case. 

He absentmindedly touched his neck where he now wore a neckerchief to hide the bruises Arthur had left from that night in the cabin, biting and sucking at his skin.

Micah could see Arthur quite clearly from where he sat; he’d changed out of his winter clothes now and wore a sky blue button down shirt that matched his eyes and dark denim pants that fit him well. 

Never had Micah heard Arthur's voice so excited, seen his eyes light up so as he said Mary’s name. 

"Yes…" Miss Grimshaw said and her tone didn't go unnoticed by Micah, disapproving, which wasn't exactly unusual for Miss Grimshaw - a more sour faced dragon if Micah had met one. "Never did like that girl. Anyway, there's a letter for you by your tent from her."  
Arthur was about to turn and go to his tent when Miss Grimshaw lay an uncharacteristically gentle hand on his chest, "be careful with her, Arthur. That girl's nothing but trouble."

Arthur didn't humour her with a response. Micah watched him go to his tent and tear open the letter like a present on Christmas morning. He read it eagerly. Soon afterwards he left the camp.

Micah felt his chest tighten and didn't understand why. 

A little while later, Micah found Dutch. Dutch was unlike any man Micah had ever met before. He was intriguing, magnetic and left Micah in awe. Despite being only five or six years Micah’s senior, he saw Dutch as an almost fatherly figure. 

Micah’s father had not possessed any of the skills or qualities of Dutch Van Der Linde, instead he had been what Micah had soon learned to be a bottomless evil. Nothing Micah, his brother or mother did could change that. He resented his brother, Amos, for leaving when he did but only because he had wanted to go, too… He had just been too afraid. 

Micah vowed, when he left his father, that he would never be afraid of a person ever again. People would only ever fear him. 

He wasn’t afraid of _Dutch_ , more afraid that maybe he would lose favour with him now because of this ferry business. Sure, no one could have predicted what was going to happen but this was Dutch and Micah’s job and Micah had let him down, in a way. People got hurt and that sort of thing didn’t sit well with Dutch. 

Dutch was around the side of his tent reading. Molly O’Shea was inside the tent, she looked annoyed to see Micah come around but truth be told, she looked annoyed whenever anyone took Dutch’s attention off of her, which Micah noticed seemed to be more often than not these days. 

They had robbed a train out by Granite Pass before coming down from the mountains. He had seemed pleased with the take but it wasn’t enough. He spent a lot of is time brooding and looking anxious around the camp now.

“Dutch, can I talk to you a minute?” Micah asked. He tried to talk softly to Dutch. He wasn’t afraid of him but… One wrong word could send Dutch into a fury, he’d seen it before when Davey has spoken out of line - it was startling to see Dutch’s face turn dark, eyes completely black, drawing himself up to his full and impressive height, Micah’s never noticed how tall he was until that time, how he was muscular, too. Dutch had bellowed so loudly that his voice echoed. He never lost his cool like that, not in the six months that Micah had been with the gang and Micah didn’t fancy having that same fate.

Dutch looked up from his book, amber eyes narrowed at Micah, “what is it?” He sounded a little annoyed.  
“Listen… I think… I want to go back to Blackwater and get the money.”  
“Out of the question,” Dutch said bluntly and turned his gaze back to his book but Micah saw that his eyes didn’t move, he wasn’t reading. 

Negotiating with Dutch was almost like a dance - you just have to know the steps.

“Maybe I ain’t makin’ myself clear…” Micah said carefully, “I ain’t tryin’ to rob you. You know me better than that.”  
Dutch closed his book now with a sigh. “Just what are you trying to do, Micah?” He asked, still sounding impatient. 

The topic of the Blackwater money was a sensitive one; while everyone else had scrambled to get out of there, Dutch and Hosea had hidden the money. They had thought that it was too risky to try to get out of Blackwater with it. Micah thought that sounded a little off but who was he to argue with Dutch?  
Only Dutch and Hosea knew where that money was stashed, Micah didn’t even think Arthur knew - Arthur trusted Dutch wholeheartedly and would never question it. Micah trusted Dutch too, in as much as Micah could trust anyone… But it seemed a little unfair how _everyone’s_ money was hidden and only Dutch and Hosea knew where. 

“I’m tryin’ to save you. Save everybody. I’ll go to Blackwater and get the money then meet you all some place… And we’ll be home free! That’s it.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed. Micah watched him intently. He was a well dressed man, and despite being down on their luck, that hadn’t changed about him. His crimson silk vest contrasted with his crisp white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled to the elbow. The ribbon of his hat mated the vest. Dutch removed the hat to run a hand through the dark tresses of his hair while he thought over what Micah had said.

“Just… Just think about it, boss. That’s all I’m sayin’. The way I see it, we gotta try.” Micah knew full well that Dutch probably didn’t give two shits _the way Micah saw it._ But it was all part of the dance. 

“I…” Dutch started, turning his gaze back up to Micah. He seemed a little at a loss for words momentarily. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally.

Micah let a smile break out on his face, “thank you.” He said, not forgetting that he was still beneath Dutch in all senses of the word and he was definitely not adverse to grovelling if that’s what it took for Dutch to see sense, to let him help and who knows, take over from where Hosea so obviously wanted to leave…

****

Later that night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, Micah sat by the campfire sharpening his knife. From where he sat, he had a perfect view of Arthur’s tent which was, as usual, empty. 

Micah let his thoughts wander back to that morning. He wondered who this Mary woman was and how had he never heard of her until now? Was she an old flame? As long as he had known Arthur Morgan, Arthur had never had a romantic relationship, not even an unromantic one - he turned down whores in the saloons, ignored women who complimented him or gave him discount in stores on account of how handsome he was and continued with his sullen cowboy act. Micah had begun to doubt whether it was an act at all… 

Just then he heard hooves approaching. Micah couldn't see who it was but he heard Bill who was on guard duty ask: “who goes there?”  
“Arthur, you dumbass.” Came the reply.

Micah couldn’t help feel his chest tighten again, his heart ripple. _Why was he like this?_

When Arthur came into view, he had a bottle of whiskey in one hand that he must have taken from the box by Hosea’s tent. As he approached the fire, he smelled like he had already been drinking.  
Micah didn’t look up but he could see Arthur out of the corner of his eye, hovering around the fire, watching Micah continue to sharpen his knife as if he hadn’t noticed the younger outlaw arrive. Micah didn’t look up or speak because he had no idea what to say to Arthur. Part of him thought that maybe Arthur had been right up in the cabin, maybe there was nothing to talk about.

To Micah’s surprise, Arthur sat down beside him at the fireside. Micah could see that there was something in Arthur’s other hand. A piece of paper. The letter from that morning. 

Arthur was the first to speak. “You’re up late.”  
Micah shrugged, “so are you.”

“I… I was with someone in town… Someone I… Uh…” Arthur trailed off. It looked like it pained him to think about it, let alone say it. “Someone I was courtin’ a long time ago.”  
Micah let himself smirk. “What happened? She kick you out for the night once you were done?”  
“No.” Arthur replied, almost hotly, “It ain’t like that. She ain’t like that.”

Arthur’s voice wavered slightly. Micah had never heard him speak so earnestly or even speak this long, he usually spoke to Micah in short grunts like some farmyard animal. 

Arthur continued, “she… Well, she was never really right for me. Too good for me. I proposed a long time ago. She turned me down o’ course. We was just kids really.”

Micah didn't say anything, he got the feeling that Arthur didn’t really want his input but rather just needed someone to listen to him.

“Anyway, her daddy didn’t like me.”  
Micah scoffed, “what do daddies know?”  
Arthur smiled weakly and drank from his whiskey bottle before continuing. “Maybe he was right. She weren’t made for this life. Sometimes I wonder if anyone really is…”

Arthur stared into the fire. Micah stared at Arthur. 

“Anyway. She left a letter for me and o’ course, I went rushin’ over to her like the prize idiot I am… Knew she’s married now but, well, he’s gone. Pneumonia or somethin’; bad business. So she’s a widow now. Some _stupid_ part o’ me thought maybe this was her givin’ me another chance now we’re both older.”

He stared into the fire sadly and took another swig from the bottle. 

“Turns out she just wanted an errand boy, someone to do her dirty work for her… She knew I was fool enough to do whatever she wants. Maybe ‘cause part of me thinks we still got a chance even though I know she ain’t about this life and I ain’t exactly the type to buy a ranch and live honestly… Sometimes I wonder if… If I’m the sorta person that can… Be loved…”  
Arthur let himself trail off. They sat in silence for a few minutes save the crackling of the fire. 

Micah had never heard Arthur talk this way, not to anyone. Part of Micah had assumed that Arthur just didn’t have that in him. A big, brawny brute who was emotionally stunted. But now Micah saw the pain on Arthur’s handsome features and he hurt too, in a way. 

“You can't go forcin’ somethin’ if it ain’t right.” Micah said, his voice taking on an alien, gentle quality.  
It took Arthur by surprise, he looked up at him now. The fire reflected in his eyes. Micah had thought he was more drunk than he looked but the way he looked at Micah told him different. 

Micah watched the fire dance in those great blue orbs. Neither of them said anything but Micah knew. Micah knew what was going to happen and he was fully prepared to let it despite the fact that they were in the middle of the camp, despite the fact that if Dutch were to come out of his tent, if Javier who was sleeping just a few feet away was to wake, they’d be seen. But Micah let it happen anyway. He was powerless.

Arthur moved his head closer and they kissed. Arthur let the letter tumble from his fingers into the mud as he reached for Micah, one hand on his face the other he lay almost hesitantly on his chest. Micah reciprocated. He let his eyes close, let his lips move on their own, let Arthur’s tongue slip into his mouth and rub gently against his own so he could taste the whiskey he had just drunk.  
Micah felt his head spinning, like he was drunk too. All he could hear was the fire crackling, feel the warmth of Arthur’s hands on him and smell the musk from the swell of the younger man’s chest. Consuming. Intoxicating. He brought his hands up, running them through Arthur’s soft, fawn hair and Arthur made a sound, a sigh, a moan that Micah echoed back to him.

And before he knew it, Arthur had pulled away but his hands were still on Micah. Still, neither of them spoke. Micah let Arthur stand and guide him away from the main camp, behind Arthur’s own tent and into the treeline.

Micah was eager to kiss again and Arthur allowed him to once they were a suitable distance from the camp. Micah let Arthur grope him through his clothes, let Arthur’s fingers work at the buttons on his pants and slip his hands inside, palming his already semi hard cock. Micah let out a shaky gasp into Arthur’s mouth, the stubble from his beard scratching his skin, the smell of tobacco on his shirt filled up his lungs. 

Micah’s fingers were quick to unbutton Arthur’s pants, too and take his cock in hand. He was hard and Micah could feel it pulse beneath his fingertips, the tip leaked with precum and Micah tugged on it making Arthur growl into his mouth. A growl that sent a pang of excitement throughout his body.  
Arthur reciprocated and the pair jerked each other, kissing hard, Micah pressing his hips against Arthur’s who rocked his back in response, drawing breathy moans from Micah.

Micah wasn't sure if it was the lust or the liquor or maybe both but he wasn’t going to question it. He also wasn’t going to admit that he had wanted this again, so _so badly._

Arthur shifted, spitting on his palm before resting his weight on a tree behind him so he could take both of their erections in his hand and stroke them together.

Micah couldn’t stop himself letting out a guttural moan. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The soft skin of Arthur’s cock against his own, hot and throbbing paired with Arthur’s slicked hand was an unprecedented type of bliss. 

Micah’s legs shook and he could barely stand, Arthur let him lean forwards, able to support them both as Micah clung to him, hips fucking into Arthur’s palm as he stifled his moans and swore under his breath each time Arthur’s hand ran the length of his shaft, rough thumb swiped over his slit or reached down to gently tug on his balls. 

Arthur kissed him to silence him and soon, Micah found himself rutting erratically, panting into Arthur’s open mouth, unable to concentrate on anything other than chasing his release. 

He came in ropes, shuddering against Arthur. Micah’s release served as lubrication as Arthur continued to stroke, his hand in a vice-like grip around both of their lengths, Micah now trembling and whimpering pathetically through overstimulation. Arthur let out a low rumble in his chest as he came too, Micah could feel his cock pulsating against his own as Arthur leant back against the tree, eyes closed, wrapped in euphoria, hips thrusting more shallow now until he stilled. 

Arthur let Micah stay leaning against him while they caught their breath. It was definitely the liquor that led Arthur to kissing Micah again, this time almost chastely before he moved away, buttoned his pants up and retired to his cot. 

Micah sat on the edge of camp, he could see Arthur curled up asleep on his cot. After the buzz from his orgasm died down, he felt hollow. As much as he had wanted it, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

_Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times..?_

****

Arthur slept in the next day but Micah had already left by the time he woke. Dutch had approached him after he had eaten breakfast.

“Micah, I know you’re eager to get our money back and I commend you for it, son but it ain’t gonna be that easy.” He said.  
Micah half shrugged, half nodded. He was exhausted. Dutch didn’t seem to notice, he continued.  
“I just think… It’s better to chase new opportunities - always more money to be made, this is America after all… I know you got your heart set on the Blackwater money - I did too. But… I just don’t want no one else to get hurt or worse. Y’understand?”  
“Yes, boss.” Came Micah’s swift reply.  
“Good,” Dutch said with a hint of a smile. “In that case, I want you to go out scoutin’ west a bit but not too close to Blackwater. See what opportunities you can find. Take young Lenny with you.”  
“Lenny?” Micah repeated.

Micah didn’t not like Lenny Summers, he was indifferent at best. Lenny was the youngest member of the gang at just nineteen years of age - just a boy. Micah could almost smell the breast milk on the kid’s breath; he was young and inexperienced. They just didn’t suit each other. 

But Micah knew it was best not to argue with Dutch Van Der Linde and so found himself riding out back west way again with young Lenny in tow. Lenny chattered and Micah barely listened, too busy thinking of the night before and _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur._

They came across a small place called Strawberry, a dry town with not much going on - a lead that there was a man at the post office willing to pay them to sabotage stagecoaches but it was small fry. They needed to make up for all that money lost in Blackwater, all $150,000 of it. A stagecoach wasn’t going to give them that.

Later that day they found a saloon outside of Strawberry and as with all saloons, they also found trouble. Micah recognised someone there, a man he knew as ‘Skinny’. Skinny had screwed him out of money a while back, just after he lost his other crew to Sisika. Micah was the sort of person to hold grudges and so went to ‘talk’ to Skinny. 

Lenny warned him against it, which Micah had shaken off - _”you worry too much, kid.”_

But maybe this time, the kid was right. Micah had drank far too much whiskey already in a bid to numb some of the confusion he’d been feeling all day in regards to Arthur and _whatever the hell it was they kept doing together…_

Had he been sober, there may not have been a fight. Had he been sober, he might have been quick enough to escape the law. Had he been sober, he might not have been arrested and thrown in the Strawberry jail. 

****

Micah woke up feeling like he'd been mown down by one of those stagecoaches he thought he was too good to hold up. His head hurt and he didn't remember how, when or why he got there. 

Micah had been in jails worse than this before - always managed to get himself out somehow. They hadn’t gotten his name and didn’t know he was part of Dutch’s gang so he was sure he’d be let out sooner or later…  
There was an O’Driscoll in the cell with him who was as drunk as a skunk and blathered on about a banking stage him and his boys were planning on hitting.  
Micah ignored him for the most part. He was hung over and he could feel that he had a black eye but he wasn’t sure from where. 

He found himself slipping into an uneasy sleep.

He was standing outside of the barn again, staring at the peeling red paint. He knew what would be inside if he went through the doors. He didn’t want to go through the doors. He didn’t want to see it again.  
There was the voice. It was always here. Always screeching at him. _“Prove it! Prove it to me, ya yella bellied son of a bitch!_  
He walked slowly to the barn door, laid his hand on the wood, it was warm from the summer sun. He remembered the heat. Remembered how it made the blood smell…

_“Do it now! Prove to me you ain’t a pussy like that no-good brother o’ yours!”_

He jolted awake forgetting where he was. The O'Driscoll snored on the cold floor of the cell beside him. Micah took a breath. He hoped that Lenny had enough brains to go and get help. 

And help came, eventually, in the form of Arthur Morgan.

Micah had been sitting at the window of the jail, leaning his face against the bars which cooled his swollen eye when he spotted Arthur sauntering over to him. He looked like he’d had a haircut and a shave, maybe even a bath. His hair was trimmed now, off of his neck where before it had been longer, his beard also gone. He’d replaced his blue shirt with a black one. He looked good and Micah cursed himself for thinking so.

You can do a lot of thinking in jail and Micah had thought of nothing but their encounter at the camp - what had it meant? Why had Arthur allowed it again if he had said it was nothing before?  
Micah knew the trail was lonely, men would lay with other men, hell even cattle if that was the only thing available.. But Micah wasn’t the only thing available. Not thirty minutes north was Valentine full of working girls if Arthur wanted to relieve himself. Why did they keep coming back to each other? 

“Hello old friend, have a good time, did you?” Arthur asked, smirking as he sidled up to the side of the building.  
“You gonna get me outta here, Morgan?” Micah asked, a hint of desperation about his tone.  
Arthur paused before answering, taking the time to put a cigarette between his plump lips, strike a match then light the smoke. “I ain’t decided yet.”  
“Real funny.” Micah replied, rolling his eyes.  
“Oh, I ain’t joking, cowpoke.” Arthur replied as he exhaled smoke. “I’ve heard so much bluster outta your mouth the last six months and now I got an opportunity to watch you be silenced.”

Micah’s eyes widened. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that Arthur was joking. It seemed like such a juxtaposition to the man he had been kissing just a couple of days ago who had sounded so vulnerable and sorrowful....  
“You- you gotta do something!” Micah replied. Would Arthur really leave him to languish here? That wasn’t the Arthur Morgan Micah knew at all.  
“Why?” Arthur asked, his voice low and rumbling.  
Micah’s pale eyes met Arthur’s. “I… I thought…” He stammered uncharacteristically and shot a glance back at the O’Driscoll who was still asleep. “I thought, well, y’know..?”

Micah looked at Arthur pointedly. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten the other night.  
Arthur shook his head quickly. “I told ya, I ain’t gonna talk ‘bout that ever again. Y’understand? It was a mistake.”  
“A mistake that happened three times? Sure, cowpoke.” Micah found himself saying hotly.  
“You shut your mouth or I will leave you here to rot, Micah, so help me I will.” Arthur looked away from Micah in the jail cell before saying, “don’t be mistaken, I’m only here because Dutch asked me. Nothin’ else.”  
Micah didn’t say anything. He glared at Arthur. Hated that he was drawn to him when he was such a self righteous _prick_ almost all of the time. 

Arthur used dynamite to blast the wall of the jail away. It was a loud and brash technique that suited Arthur. The lawmen up in the jailhouse were alerted immediately and Arthur handed Micah a revolver to protect himself from what was about to come.  
Micah didn’t know whether it was because of what Arthur had said, acting like nothing had happened but he suddenly saw red as lawmen descended upon them. Micah found himself shooting up the town as if his life depended on it.  
Arthur followed him, shouting after him, “what the hell are you doing?! Let’s just get out of here!”  
But Micah felt rage boiling over inside of him, rage because he had let Arthur do as he pleased and he felt used, he felt stupid. And now Arthur was being sent to save him, smirking at him like he was some little bitch. Micah would have preferred anyone coming to his rescue, anyone other than Arthur.  
“Have you lost your goddamn mind, Micah?!” Arthur was calling after him as Micah made his way through Strawberry firing on anything or anyone who resembled a lawman.  
“Calm yourself woman,” Micah spat at Arthur, “we’ll be fine.”  
“You have really lost it this time!”  


Micah felt a rush of adrenaline in a gunfight. He didn’t know if others did but there was little else that got him excited or made him feel as alive as bullets whistling past him. He got a thrill out of dodging and weaving, out of hunkering down then waiting for an opening to make that perfect headshot. Maybe it was something he’d learned from his daddy - the only times his daddy’d been proud of him was when he was unloading a chamber of bullets into someone’s chest.  
Together, Arthur and Micah were a force to be reckoned with - both excellent shots and efficient. They made short work of the lawmen and were able to make their escape.  
There was a lull eventually, Micah stood in the middle of the small town, chest heaving covered in sweat and blood - some his and some not.  
Arthur stared at him incredulously. “Come on,” Arthur growled at him, marching over to him as he unhitched his horse, a Missouri Foxtrotter like Baylock only Arthur’s was dapple grey. “Get on,” Arthur ordered, “before I shoot you, too.”  
Micah let himself chuckle. This almost felt normal. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”  
Micah wasn’t worried about Baylock, he was a clever horse who would have returned to camp once Micah didn’t come for him. Arthur mounted up and reached down to pull Micah up too. Micah ignored the sparks he felt at Arthur’s touch.

Arthur spurred the horse onwards and they tore out of Strawberry. There were already reinforcements on their tail; with one hand, Micah held onto Arthur’s waist and with the other he shot at the lawmen. He pushed down all the thoughts he had about holding onto Arthur and being this close to him, close enough to smell him, close enough to press his lips to the nape of Arthur’s neck just to hear him sigh and watch him shiver.  
“Goddamn maniac,” Arthur snapped at him as they rode past Rigg’s Station, “I shoulda left you to hang.”  
Micah smirked. That was the Arthur he knew, not the sad drunk at the campfire. “Wouldn’t you get bored without me?” He asked playfully.  
Arthur grunted but didn’t reply.  
“That was some good shootin’ back there - gotta hand it to ya, Morgan.”  
“What was that you pulled back there?!” Arthur called back to him, not letting up on the speed though it seemed like the law was gone now.  
“Got a bit wild, that’s for sure.” Micah mused, not wanting to have to explain himself.  
“Wild!?” Arthur repeated, sounding dumbfounded. 

Micah didn’t say anything else. He didn’t know what exactly had come over him and he wasn’t about to spill his guts and feelings to Arthur Morgan. Not now, anyway. Maybe if things had been different... If Arthur hadn’t acted like nothing had happened...  
“You owe Lenny,” Arthur told him sternly, “if he hadn’t found us in time… Well…”  
“You’ll all be thanked profusely. I promise.” Micah retorted.  
“You’re lucky Dutch has got your back for some unknown reason.” Arthur said coldly.  
Arthur slowed his horse down now. Micah still rested his hand on Arthur’s waist, the anger subsided giving way to something else but he didn’t understand it. He felt his chest tighten but different this time. It was dull, it throbbed and ached like he wanted to howl in pain.  
“Take me back to my camp.” Micah said to Arthur, “it’s at Monto’s Rest.”  
“You ain’t comin’ back to Horseshoe Overlook?” Arthur asked, surprised. He turned his head to look at Micah over his shoulder. Micah didn’t want to meet his eye.  
“No. I’ve been a bad boy, Morgan. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy with me. I’ll let him cool off or bring him a peace offering.”

Arthur rode to Monto’s Rest - Micah had set up camp there with Lenny before they went to the saloon. Baylock was waiting for him.  
Micah slipped off of Arthur’s horse and went to Baylock. There wasn’t much he cared about in life but his horse was one of them.  
“Hey,” he greeted the Foxtrotter gently and patted him on the muzzle, “what a clever boy you are.” 

Arthur hovered awkwardly, not getting off of his horse but not leaving immediately either. He watched as Micah spoke softly to Baylock and fed him some hay: _“you must be hungry, boy._  
Micah looked back to Arthur, puzzled. He’d half expected Arthur to make him walk back to his camp after that performance in Strawberry and he certainly hadn’t expected Arthur to hang around. 

Why was Micah’s heart beating so hard in his chest?

“I…” Arthur started and Micah looked up at him, head to one side, “I’m glad Lenny got to us in time.”

Micah saw the flush play across Arthur’s cheeks and his blue-green eyes looked bright, just like they had done before. What was this? Not half an hour ago, he had said he’d leave Micah in that cell, he’d berated him for shooting his way out of town and now… Now he was saying he was happy that Micah was ok?

“Why…. why don’t you stay?” Micah found himself asking and he hated himself for it. Micah also hated how he had to crane his neck to look up at Arthur on his horse. 

The night had drawn in now and Arthur’s features were shrouded by darkness but his eyes shimmered as they settled on Micah’s. Micah thought for a moment that he could see Arthur considering his proposition of staying. Whether it was just for a drink or for the night, Micah wasn't sure if he cared, he just wasn't ready for Arthur to leave just yet. Didn't want to be on his own again.

He hated how he became needy around Arthur. He’d been so angry at him but now he couldn’t be. 

“I…” Arthur started, hesitating. “I should get back.” He said, looking away as he spoke.

It was all Micah could do but to bite his lip to stop him calling after Arthur as he turned his horse around to leave; it took all his will to stop him begging Arthur to stay with him.

He already felt his neck flushing with embarrassment. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him! Simpering after Morgan out of everyone..!

He hated himself more and more and more.

So he rode into Valentine a short while afterwards, drank too much whiskey and fucked the first whore who spoke to him.

The whore wasn’t the best lay in his life but she wasn't bad either. She wasn't Arthur though.

****

Micah woke up in the rented room above the Valentine bar the next morning. Light streamed in through the window and the whore was long gone. 

Micah groaned and rolled over. He was naked, still had blood on him from the jailbreak the day before. He didn’t want to think about that or think about Arthur. He cleaned himself up and dressed, going downstairs to the bar. He needed food - he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything.

He ordered eggs, flapjacks and coffee. He sat at a table away from the main doors trying to let his pounding head subside. If he closed his eyes he saw Arthur, saw the blood from the lawmen in Strawberry, saw the peeling paint of the barn door… 

“Micah Bell..? I never thought I’d see you again, let alone in Valentine of all places..!”

Micah’s head jerked up and his eyes were greeted with the sight of a well dressed man around the same age as him, tall and slender with a shock of red hair and vibrant green eyes that sparkled mischievously with a boyish charm as they met Micah’s. 

“Clinton Jones?”

“The very same! How the hell are you!” Clinton asked, pulling up a chair and sitting at the table beside Micah.  
Micah found himself uncharacteristically lost for words as he stared into those dazzling emerald eyes.  
Clinton seemed nonplussed at his old friend’s silence. “Let me buy you a drink! It’s been how many years..?”  
“Too many,” Micah replied rather bluntly. He was taken aback. Hadn’t seen Clinton since he was a boy. Back then, they had been very close but since Micah took off on his own, Micah had pushed those memories down.

“How’s Emily?” Clinton asked Micah.  
“Amy.” Micah corrected him, a sudden jolt carved through him like a knife. “She… She passed away.”  
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Clinton said, though he didn’t sound it at all.

Micah found himself speechless at being presented with his past so suddenly and unexpectedly. A working girl set Micah’s food down before him and he began to eat, a distraction from having to make small talk with a childhood friend. 

“What are you doing out this way?” Clinton asked Micah, watching him attentively.  
Micah shrugged casually, “jus’ this and that. You know how it is, Clint.”  
Clinton laughed softly, “been years since anyone called me that. It’s Clinton these days… Or Agent Jones.”

Micah didn’t show that a jolt of panic ran through him. He had known Clinton had been interested in joining the law when they were younger - not wanting to follow a life of crime and urging Micah to do the same. But Micah couldn’t, his daddy’d never let him. And then after what happened out in Ohio there was no going back, Clinton knew that. 

“I work with the Pinkertons now, Micah.” Clinton said, almost gently as if he wanted to soften the blow.  
“It’s what you wanted.” Micah replied, not meeting Clinton’s eye now.  
Clinton moved a little closer to Micah now, dropping his voice as he spoke, “even me just sittin’ here with you is a risk, especially after what happened with your daddy.” Micah’s eyes darted up to Clinton’s. “I never told no one about you, Micah. I swear.”

Micah stopped eating. Had he not been Micah Bell III, his hands might have shook as he held the cutlery and he might have been worried about just how convenient it was that Agent Clinton Jones of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, former close friend of Micah Bell, just happened to have tracked him down to Valentine, especially after all that chaos he had caused in Strawberry. 

Perhaps Micah had not been as anonymous as he had thought back in that small, Strawberry jail.

“Thanks.” Micah said.  
“That’s what friends are for - helpin’ each other.” Clinton said with a smile, “maybe you could help me, Micah..? ‘Parently, there’s a bunch of people out this way - outlaws - just robbed a ferry in Blackwater and then a train owned by Mister Leviticus Cornwall. Maybe you heard about it?”

“Can't say I have.” Micah replied smoothly, picking his knife and fork up again and resuming his breakfast, “you know me, Clint… I ain’t really one for reading the newspaper.”

That wasn’t the answer Clinton had wanted as he moved his head further still, his smile diminished but still playing on his lips like someone who knew they had a royal flush in poker. “Listen, Micah. I don’t wanna be coy. Dutch Van Der Linde is a wanted man and I want to help put him behind bars.”  
Micah shrugged, slurping at his coffee in a purposefully obnoxious way. “I think think I’ve heard o’ him but… I’m afraid I can’t help you old friend.”

Micah went to stand now and Clinton followed suit.  
“Micah!” He followed Micah to the doors of the saloon rather desperately now, “Micah, I know you know somethin’. You was seen with Van Der Linde out west. Now I came to you without tellin’ no one because I still… Well… We was close once.”

Micah hesitated as he walked to the hitching post. “We was.” Micah conceded, not looking at Clinton now. “Long time ago now, Clint. Long time ago.”  
“Don’t mean that it didn’t happen or that it didn’t mean anything.”

Micah let his hat hide the expression on his face. He hadn’t thought about Clinton Jones for twenty years. Many people had come and gone since then.

“Clint…We was kids.”  
“I don’t wanna have to resort to blackmail. I thought, maybe you’d still have some sort of fondness left… Thought you’d want to help an old friend out - you scratch my back, I scratch yours?”  
Micah turned back to Clinton now. He searched his face not knowing if he could trust him. _When could you ever trust a Pinkerton?_

“They’d still be interested in you after what happened in Ohio, you know. They got your daddy but as far as I know, that bounty’s still out on your head.”  
“Clint-” Micah started, shaking his head.  
“I won’t tell ‘em a thing, I swear… If you help me, Micah. I can guarantee your freedom. And money, too - Dutch has a pretty price on his head.”  
Micah’s face stayed stony. Clinton reached into his inside jacket pocket and held out a sheet of paper to Micah. It was Dutch’s bounty poster. Micah took it without looking at it. 

“Just think about it, Micah. I’ll be in touch.”


	3. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was over, Micah had decided when he walked away from Arthur. Whatever it had been between Arthur Morgan and him was finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than usual but Christmas has made it difficult to write like I usually would as I went home! In saying that, I hope you all had a good holiday and happy new year! We're halfway through this fic already, Ill try to update soon ^^
> 
> (Currently unedited, I'll come back and edit later today!)

Micah came back to Horseshoe Overlook after about a week. He’d robbed that stagecoach the O’Driscoll in the Strawberry jail had mentioned, too. Maybe stagecoach robberies weren’t beneath him after all. Dutch seemed pleased with the take and not too annoyed that he had gotten himself thrown into jail, or shot up and entire town upon his escape. 

Apparently, there had been a party when Sean returned from being held by bounty hunters but not one for Micah. He didn't care too much, he wasn’t like Sean who was like a puppy-dog, needing constant attention. Plus no one really liked Micah and he knew that very well, apart from Dutch and maybe Javier and Bill on a good day. It would be fake of them to throw a party for him.  
Lenny had joked up in Colter that they’d throw a party when Micah fell. Micah could have throttled the boy had Arthur not held him back. It hurt because it was true. 

The next couple of weeks moved so fast they became a blur and they found themselves having to move camp again. Leviticus Cornwall had caught up with them and a gun fight had followed right through the middle of Valentine. It seemed that Cornwall not only owned almost all of the businesses in the land but funded all of the authorities in the land, too. And that included the Pinkertons. 

It occurred to Micah that for all of Dutch’s plans, they wouldn’t be able to outrun someone like Cornwall forever. 

It was probably for the best that they moved on as a couple of days prior to the shoot out, Arthur had returned to the camp after taking little Jack fishing and he sounded _worried_. Micah had never heard Arthur sound like that before. He headed straight for Dutch's tent, his expression stricken.  
Micah hadn’t been the only one to notice; Abigail had seen too and watched after Arthur but when she caught Micah’s eye, she quickly disappeared back to her tent, busying herself with Jack, saying something about mending his trousers. 

“We got a problem,” Arthur said to Dutch, entering his tent. Micah’s ears pricked up and he sidled over to Dutch’s tent, too to listen just out of sight.  
“What?” Came Dutch’s reply.  
“I just met some guys out near the river… A feller named… Erm… Milton and erm… I don’t remember the other feller’s name… Ross! Milton and Ross.”  
“And?” Dutch asked, sounding impatient.  
“And! They’re employees of the Pinkerton Detective Agency and they know about the train _and they know we’re here._ ” Arthur said, his hushed tone cracking.  
“Were you followed back?” Dutch asked immediately.  
There was a pause. “Dutch… What do you take me for?”  
“I know, son…” Dutch said gently. “I… I gotta ask.”  
“Course I wasn’t. They know we're around here but they don’t know we’re _here._ They want you, Dutch,” Arthur continued, his voice hushed and gentle, too. “They offered me my freedom in exchange, they did.”  
There was a pause before Dutch asked, “why didn’t you take it?” A coldness in his voice.  
“Very funny.” Arthur grumbled.

The pair spilled out of the tent and Micah peeled away towards Pearson’s wagon.  
“What do we do now?”  
Dutch paused, prowling before his tent like a caged lion. “I say we do nothin'... Just yet.” He answered. “They’re just trying to scare us into doing something stupid. We have turned a corner. We survived them mountains. We just need to stay calm.”

With that Dutch walked to the edge of the camp that overlooked the Dakota River. Micah could see great plumes of smoke coming from him where he smoked his cigar, deep in silent thought. 

Micah wondered whether he should have come straight to Dutch too after he had ran into Clinton in Valentine. Had it been wrong of him to not tell Dutch? Deceitful? Afterall, he was lying now, wasn’t he? But like Arthur said, they knew that they were around here but didn’t know where they were exactly. The Pinkertons had nothing on them - no one could prove who was on that ferry and they didn’t even get away with the money, that was why they were in this mess. 

He supposed that was another difference between him and Arthur… Unshakable, unabashed loyalty and truthfulness. 

Micah hadn't gone to see Clinton again. He had thought about what Clinton had said but decided he couldn't trust the man, he was a Pinkerton now.  
Twenty years changes someone. Look at Micah, a scrawny, nervous kid with daddy issues back then. Now he was a grown man, stronger and tougher… maybe still had the issues though, but whose parents haven't fucked them up just a bit?

****

So they moved onto a place called Clemens Point over the border into Lemoyne, not too far from a town called Rhodes. 

Micah had never been here before and if he never returned, it'd be too soon. The place was full of morons and backwards ex slave owners who still hadn't let go of the war; sore losers and inbred half wits.  
This country didn’t suit the gang and especially Dutch who stuck out so easily. It was never easy for a group of twenty or so people to turn up undetected but this was something else. Even Bill had more brains than the people of Rhodes and that was saying something... 

Clemens Point was hot and uncomfortable. Sure, it looked pretty enough, a small peninsula with Flat Iron Lake stretching off far into the distance but looks only got you so far. Micah felt _unsafe_ there. It wasn’t far enough away from Horseshoe Overlook, hell you could ride back to their old camp in less than a day and that felt too close for Micah’s liking. Any fool could track a caravan as large as theirs south for half a day. 

Micah felt languid here at Clemens Point, not used to the heat. Lemoyne heat was different to that of New Austin. The heat in New Austin was dry and prickly. Lemoyne heat was relentless, heavy and thick like Pearson’s stew - it was humid and almost suffocating. 

He didn’t know what to do here but he knew whatever it was, he needed to gain Dutch’s trust again.  
The ferry job was Micah’s chance at impressing Dutch, by showing him that he could be just as good as Hosea - if not better. Micah was younger, fitter and capable. He’d hoped to show that side to Dutch.

He was sure more opportunities would come along, he just had to find them even in this godforsaken country. 

****

Upon initially joining the gang, Micah had only one goal and that was to become as close to Dutch as possible by whatever means necessary. He could see that there were cracks between him and Hosea and he knew it wouldn’t take much to force Hosea out. Sure, Micah could try to form his own gang but finding a reliable crew from scratch was a pain in the ass - he’d been there and done that and it hadn’t ended well. He could run it alone and that had suited him for a while but he was getting too old to sleep with one eye open and one hand on his gun. A gang provided not only more money but more security… As long as you could trust them all.

Dutch and Hosea stumbled into a plan by the sounds of things - two local families were feuding and had been for a long time. Both Dutch and Hosea seemed convinced playing one off of each other would be a good idea and would lead to some money. Micah wasn’t too sure - people like that _used_ to have money but it all dried up when the plantations dried up. Folk like them never did a hard day’s labour in their life; preferred others to do it for them. 

But it wasn't his place to argue for them to do something different, Hosea wouldn't listen to him in a month of Sundays, still bitter about Micah _stealing_ Dutch away for the ferry job in Blackwater. He was convinced that if it weren't for Micah, Dutch would never have gone ahead with the ferry and backed whatever idea Arthur and himself had. 

Pearson mentioned to Micah that he had ended up talking to some O’Driscolls in the saloon in Rhodes.  
"What was you talking to them for?" Micah asked him, leaning over the table Pearson used to prepare the food with while the old navy veteran stirred the stew pot. "You working for both sides?"

"I am not!" Came Pearson's indignant reply. “I hate O’Driscolls, Mr Bell but sometimes you gotta get in bed with the devil to know what you’re up against.”  
“I do not wish to know who you get into bed with, Mr Pearson.” Micah drawled. Pearson was full of tall tales and fantastical stories that Micah didn’t care much for these days. He preferred actions. 

“Not like that, Mr Bell.” Pearson said quickly, round cheeks reddening at the insinuation, “I simply meant, it’s good to keep your enemies close sometimes. And in this case, it’s very good. One of ‘em said that Colm wants a parley with Dutch.”  
Micah wrinkled his nose, “a parley?” He repeated.  
“Yeah, it means a meeting where you can discuss bringing a conflict to an end-”  
“I know what it means, fat man.” Micah spat, glaring at the camp cook. “I don’t need education’ from the likes of you.” 

Pearson’s eyes flickered, as if he wanted to argue with Micah but he knew better. “Well that’s what he told me, this O’Driscoll. Apparently Colm wants a parley… And I know Dutch don’t like him, none of us do, but maybe it would take some pressure off to know that the O’Driscolls are one less thing for us to worry about.”  
Micah shrugged.  
“D-do you think you could talk to Dutch, Mr Bell?”  
“You want me to talk to Dutch?”  
“He’ll… He’ll listen to you.” 

Maybe he would. But was an armistice with the O’Driscolls really something he was interested in right now? All Dutch cared about was replacing the money they lost in Blackwater.

Micah watched as the other members of the gang scrambled around to try and make a few dollars here and there: Sean robbed a stagecoach with Mary-Beth (at least she was finally pulling her weight around the camp,) John and Javier stole some old nags from the Braithwaites after being told by the Grays that they would be worth thousands of dollars. Of course, they weren’t and the pair made damn fools of themselves in believing it. Bill and Karen got Arthur involved in going back to Valentine to rob the bank - it was risky but paid off. Dutch was happy with the take, happy with Arthur doing such a good job.

The line between admiration and jealousy, between adoration and loathing was a fine one which Micah treaded carefully. Sometimes Micah didn’t know if he wanted to be Arthur or just wanted to fuck him. 

At first, when he joined the gang perhaps it was admiration that he had for Arthur; strong, handsome and silent. Morally… while he did bad things, he wanted to do what was right for those he cared for. The gang. His family. People _liked_ Arthur. No matter what bad deed he did, people _liked_ him. He wasn’t particularly easy-going or kind and definitely not meek; he wasn’t calm or eloquent. He was enduring in a way and reliable, so damn reliable. Maybe that was what people liked.

He was everything Micah wasn’t. Micah had found that being reliable had made a fool out of him more times than not - another mistake of his youth that he was not prepared to repeat into adulthood. 

Arthur could soften. Micah had seen that himself now - the way Arthur had looked at him when he had asked Arthur to stay at Monto’s Rest…

_“I’m glad Lenny got to us in time.”_

Micah hated that he had asked Arthur to stay. So desperate. So clingy. Not like him at all. He kept playing it in his head again and again until Arthur’s eyes that had shimmered and his face that had been so unreadable changed.  
He replayed it until he convinced himself that Arthur’s full lips twisted into a maniacal smirk and he roared with laughter at Micah. 

_“You want me to stay with you_?! Why, I’d sooner shit in my hands then clap.”

He hadn’t said that, Micah knew that… But why did he see it so vividly? Arthur declining his request in his head suddenly became the only thing he thought about most of the days and he loathed himself for it.

Why did it matter what Arthur Morgan said or did or thought? Why did Micah want to kiss him again, feel the younger man’s warmth against him again? Run his hands through his hair, taste him on his tongue and have him sigh into his mouth? 

This was the reason he didn’t drink often and avoided any sort of hard drug altogether. Micah knew he had an addictive personality - he couldn’t do anything by halves, couldn’t just drink one glass of whiskey, it’d have to be the bottle, couldn’t just kiss someone, he had to have them all until there was nothing left. Now he wanted more and more of Arthur; wanted to live and breathe him, feel him in his lungs and veins. So maybe that was why he took off here and there, searching for his own score to give to Dutch. His plan had always been Dutch, not Arthur. Arthur was getting in the way. 

But things turn on a dime and Micah knew that better than most. 

****

The camp seemed to be in a slump. Where at Colter and Horseshoe Overlook, Dutch and Hosea had argued, now they barely spoke apart from one night when Micah had seen them sitting close together at one of the tables. He couldn't hear what they were saying but he saw their hands touch, Dutch’s fingers sliding inside Hosea’s and Hosea didn’t shy away. 

Maybe there really was more to their relationship, or had been at one time. Surely that was more painful? But Micah wasn’t entirely experienced in these matters. 

He knew that he didn’t trust Hosea one bit. One moment Hosea agreed with Dutch, saying they just needed enough money to get themselves lost then other times, Micah would overhear him talking to Abigail or young Lenny about getting themselves out of the gang before it was too late. Turning people against Dutch but still holding his hand and looking into his eyes as if he still cared for him. Micah couldn't stand the deviousness of it all.

“This place gives me the creeps”, Hosea had told Dutch one afternoon when they seemed to be talking again. Dutch went to sit with him, “always has done.”  
Micah sat by the fire cleaning his guns but he was listening.  
Dutch agreed, smoking his cigar as he spoke, “but we could do well here.”  
“I hope so,” Hosea said quietly, “it… it feels like we’re living with ghosts.”  
Dutch paused before answering, “to me it feels like what I’ve always said… America is man set free, for good and bad… and this place is bad. Greed, delusion…. These people are rotten. And they always have been.”  
“No, it isn't that.” Hosea retorted, “there’s good people here. Good and bad. Sad thing is good people do bad things.” Hosea said this last part pointedly, eyes meeting Dutch’s.  
“Like us?” Dutch asked and it struck Micah how childlike Dutch sounded.

Micah had never considered that Dutch was just like the rest of them - longing for approval. Perhaps not of a father figure as such but of Hosea’s approval.  
The way Dutch looked at Hosea, eyes clear and _innocent_ in a strange way… Micah had never seen Dutch look like that before. Micah knew it was for Hosea and Hosea only.

“Exactly like us.” Came Hosea’s matter-of-fact reply, like a teacher talking to a student.  
“But… we… My daddy fought these people and we won.” Dutch said, sounding again, like a child.  
“Sure. And they were fighting something else and they did bad things. Such is the world.” Hosea said wisely.  
“Why… why is it like that? I've always wondered. Why ain't we better?” Dutch asked.  
Maybe he didn’t want an answer, just wanted Hosea’s attention because when Hosea shrugged and said, “now that…. That I don’t know.” Dutch rose to his feet and walked away from the table around which they had been sitting.

“You two confuse the hell outta me,” Arthur, who had been loitering by them, told Hosea as the pair watched Dutch walk away. Hosea just chuckled.  
Micah wasn't confused. Sure, Dutch held the power over the gang but Hosea held the power over Dutch. Maybe Dutch didn’t even realise that.

Arthur was ignoring him again, for the most part. Greeting him only briefly by the fire sometimes but little else. Micah didn’t know why but didn’t chase or try to change that.  
Maybe Arthur held the power over him..?

The Lemoyne heat meant that Arthur didn’t wear a jacket anymore, just his black shirt like the one he wore the day he sprung Micah from the jail. The top buttons were undone and Micah could see just enough of Arthur’s chest to tease. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled to his forearms and the shirt itself tucked into his pants almost mocking Micah in a way, showing how lean and fit his body was, how his shoulders were broad, waist cinched, thighs strong.  
Micah hated himself for looking at Arthur in this way, hated that he felt a stirring in his pants. He turned away quickly. 

Monto’s Rest seemed like such a long time ago when in reality, it had only been a couple of weeks.

“Good morning,” Charles Smith greeted Arthur as he passed him at the campfire.  
Micah didn’t think he had ever really spoken to Smith. If Micah hated Arthur for how self righteous he could be, then Charles Smith took the grand prize. Micah hated this _gentle giant_ façade the man seemed to have, acting as if he didn’t hurt and rob and kill like the rest of them. As if just because Charles didn’t _enjoy it_ , it made him superior. 

“Mornin’,” Arthur greeted back with an uncharacteristic smile, “hey, good job on finding this place.”  
“You found it too,” Charles replied and Micah could hear in his voice that he was smiling as well.  
“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been with me.”

Micah felt a jealous pang at this. He had suggested to Dutch that they set up camp at Dewberry Creek - sure, it didn’t have the vista of Horseshoe Overlook but it would be better than being shot in their beds by Pinkertons.  
Dutch sent Arthur and Charles ahead but they had decided against the spot: too open and too low to handle rainfall. So they picked Clemens Point instead and that seemed to be a real crowd pleaser. Inside Micah seethed but he’d be damned if he let anyone know.

“You goin’ huntin’ again soon?” Arthur asked Charles.  
Charles mused for a moment, “maybe.”  
“Maybe I’ll come too.”  
“I’d like that.”

Micah felt his fist ball as he walked by the pair of them who remained oblivious . He went to Pearson's wagon and Pearson mentioned the O’Driscoll thing again but Micah wafted it away, too busy listening in to Arthur and Charles’s conversation. 

“You could show me a bit more how to use that bow,” Arthur suggested.  
“Sure. You could use the practice.” Charles teased.

Micah had heard enough. He stalked off to the edge of camp, mounted up Baylock then disappeared into Rhodes. There wasn’t much to gain from Rhodes in all honesty, Micah knew that but it wasn’t only the weather that was stifling but the atmosphere in camp between Arthur and himself was stifling too. 

He played a few hands of blackjack in the saloon hoping for leads but drew a blank.

Later that night, when Micah went back to camp and took stew from the pot Pearson tried for a third time to mention the O’Driscoll thing to him. Micah had spent all day festering and replaying Arthur’s smile at Charles in a way he knew Arthur would never smile at him. 

“If I talk to Dutch about it, will you leave me the hell alone?” Micah snapped at Pearson.  
Pearson seemed taken aback but half nodded, half shrugged.

Micah slept on it. Without any other leads, this might be the best shot right now. 

So Micah waited outside of Dutch’s tent for him the next morning. Molly said she didn’t know where he had gone and Micah expected as much from her.

“Where’s Dutch?” Arthur asked Micah. He stood before him now, soft, shimmering eyes settling on him for the first time since Monto’s Rest and that felt like such a long time ago when in reality, it had only been a couple of weeks.

“I don’t know, cowpoke. But while you, Dutch and the old man have been running around digging us ever deeper into shit with these _morons_ , old Mr Pearson might have something that might lighten the load a little.”  
Arthur was smirking at him, as if amused by Micah and Micah didn’t like that one bit. For a second he could hear: _“You want me to stay with you_?! Why, I’d sooner shit in my hands then clap.”

“Ain’t you _curious_ , Morgan?” Micah asked, putting his head to one side. His voice took on a tone that made Arthur’s smirk waver slightly but he answered as if he hadn’t noticed.  
“I guess.”  
At that moment, Dutch walked over to them followed closely by Pearson who excitedly told Dutch what he had told Micah before. 

“It’s peace Dutch!”  
“Have you lost your goddamn minds?” Dutch growled.  
Micah knew that would be the response. He tried to make it better, “don’t you always say, Dutch, do what has to be done but don’t fight wars that ain’t worth fighting?”

“They want a parley?” Hosea interjected from behind his newspaper at the table before Dutch’s tent. “It’s a trap.”  
“Maybe!” Micah replied quickly, “but what have we got to lose finding out?”  
“Get shot.” Arthur replied bluntly and Dutch nodded in agreement. 

“Well then you’ll protect us, cowpoke. You know how to handle a gun better than most of us so… what is there to lose? If it’s a trap, you shoot ‘em all and if it ain’t-”  
“I don’t see the point in any of this.” Dutch pushed past Micah and went towards Hosea.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Micah. “You know he hates the O’Driscolls. Has done for years. Some parley ain’t gonna solve what’s gone before.”  
Micah glared back at him and followed Dutch. “It would take some of the pressure off of you, boss, is what I’m sayin’.”  
“I ain’t under no pressure.” Came Dutch’s curt reply.  
“I ain’t sayin’ you are!” Micah backtracked, desperate now. He had almost forgotten this was a dance. “But maybe it’d be worth it so it’s one less thing we gotta worry about in light of our circumstances… And like I said, if it’s a trap, ol’ Morgan can shoot ‘em all.”

Micah chewed his lip nervously while he watched Dutch smoke and think. He hovered near Hosea, as if wanting to ask his opinion but didn’t and Hosea didn’t offer it, the older man’s eyes staring up at Dutch awaiting a response. 

And it came. “Fine. Just me, Micah and Arthur. That’s it.”

****

On the ride there, Micah hid his excitement. Imagine it, the feud between Dutch’s boys and the O’Driscolls put to rest because of him; that had to be worth something to Dutch! And where was Hosea during all of this? Back at camp, sowing his sourness. 

But it didn’t go quite as Micah had planned. The O’Driscoll had told Pearson when and where to meet and the three of them went. Micah had never met Colm before but heard talks of him - he was as callous a man as there could get. He was a skinny man and short with it too (Napoleon complex? Micah couldn’t help but ask himself.) Colm had straw-like grey hair and even greyer eyes. They reminded Micah of fish eyes watching you from a fishmonger's display. 

The conversation between Colm and Dutch probably didn’t last even five minutes and Micah couldn’t say that he followed it; it seemed that Colm liked to talk in riddles just as much as Dutch did. 

Before Micah knew it, Dutch was instructing them to go. When Micah questioned it, Dutch held up a hand to silence him. They rode back to camp without a word being uttered.

Once back, Micah sat by the lake glaring at the water. It didn’t look like it was going to win him any favours with Dutch after all… 

“What happened?” Hosea asked but Dutch told him he wasn't in the mood to talk.  
Hosea made his way over to Micah and asked the same question.  
Micah half shrugged and half shook his head, "I don't even know."  
“Where’s Arthur?”  
Micah hadn’t seen him come back. “Probably took off on his own after whatever that just was.” Micah speculated.  
Hosea stood beside Micah for a moment, eyes squinted as if trying to read him but then he turned and walked back to the main camp.

By nightfall, Arthur still hadn’t returned. Micah had almost been looking forward to hearing what the other had to say about what had happened, even if it was him saying “I told you so.”

****

The next morning, Micah went out, following a lead about a homestead down at a place called Catfish Jackson, past one of those plantations owned by one of the inbred families Dutch and Hosea were trying to swindle. He had gotten a tip during a poker game that he hadn’t attended for the take but for the intel and the intel was good. 

The owner of the home was a drunk. He fought Micah and lost, of course. His boy cowered in his room and Micah spared him though he wasn't sure why. Maybe because the boy reminded him of himself at that age, lost in the shadow of a big, bad man. His daddy had always taught him to never leave any loose ends and that included witnesses...

Maybe his daddy wasn't always right. 

Upon Micah’s return to camp, he couldn’t help but let his gaze flick over to Arthurs tent that was, as usual, empty. Even if it wasn’t, even if Arthur was there, writing in that dumb journal of his, he’d pay no mind to Micah. 

It was barely noon when Micah joined Javier and drank some. Javier was still licking his wounds over the horse debacle. He challenged Micah to five finger fillet; Javier was faster and more precise with his knife and Micah wasn’t surprised, he was always toying with it - he’d even seen Javier take Bill down with it once before and Bill was built like a steam engine. Javier wasn’t to be messed with and Micah knew that he’d definitely want him on his side in a fight. 

After beating Micah more times than Micah cared to think about, they drank and talked. Javier talked about Mexico and his family. Micah didn’t listen too closely, he’d heard it all before. 

“What’s your story anyway?” Javier asked him after a while, way after most of the stragglers had left the fire and turned in for the night. Micah realised that it was just the pair of them now.

“I already told you before.” Came Micah’s blunt reply. He hadn’t. He hadn’t really told anyone about his past, aside from a few things he told Dutch. He knew he could trust Dutch but perhaps not the others - he didn’t fancy Sean giving a dramatic retelling of his childhood to the others around the campfire when he wasn’t around.

“I must have missed it,” Javier said, his voice taking on the silky tone that only Javier’s could.  
Micah smirked at him, “then you need to listen up next time, huh?” Micah mimicked the other’s tone.

The pair's eyes locked for a moment; Javier’s amber eyes flickered, unsure whether Micah was joking or not. Micah chuckled and Javier’s face broke out into a wide smile. 

Javier was completely drunk by the time the moon was high in the sky and he slumped forward asleep on the table where they’d been sitting.

Micah sighed and sat back. He wasn’t drunk, he never really allowed himself to get in that state - makes you let your guard down.

It was then that Micah heard a commotion by the horse hitching post and when he went to investigate, he saw someone lying on the ground. At first, he assumed it was Uncle, as usual but as he neared, he saw Karen and Mary-Beth standing over them looking and sounding worried.

“Arthur?!”  
“Arthur, what happened?!”

Arthur was only in his union suit and was bloodied and bruised - looked like he’d gone a dozen rounds in a boxing ring and come off worse. He was wheezing and coughing, shaking and weak. He looked _awful_. 

Dutch pushed past Micah followed by Miss Grimshaw. Arthur couldn’t even stand on his own, needing Dutch’s help who scooped him up off of the floor.  
“Son, what happened?” Dutch asked him, sounding _scared_.

It was like it wasn’t really happening, hazy like a dream as Dutch called for help desperately and Pearson appeared out of nowhere looking stricken; he helped bear most of Arthur’s weight, taking him to his tent. 

“It was a trap!” Arthur coughed, “they was gonna call the law!”  
“You’re safe now, son.” Dutch was telling him as he was helped into his cot and Miss Grimshaw began to tend to look at the extent of his wounds.  
“Why didn’t you come for me?” Arthur asked Dutch.  
Dutch looked away. “I was comin’, son, I swear!” Dutch was saying.

But Micah knew he wasn’t. The fact is, no one was. No one really knew he was missing. 

****

People fussed and bustled the rest of the night. No one was really able to sleep, on edge and afraid. 

“Is Uncle Arthur gonna be ok, mama?” Jack asked the next morning, his voice was too loud amongst the silence of the camp. 

“Course he is, silly boy.” Abigail replied scathingly but her expression was worried. 

Everyone was thinking the same as Jack, Jack was the only one brave enough to ask. 

Miss Grimshaw and Tilly Jackson took turns to sit with Arthur and care for him. Dutch paced by the water’s edge. He and Hosea argued again but Micah hadn’t been able to hear what was said. Micah heard Reverend Swanson praying by Arthur’s bedside for whatever good that would do for him. 

In the evening, Javier played his guitar and sang by the fire to a few sombre members of the gang before retiring to bed. Micah didn’t know any Spanish but knew the song was sorrowful and he felt his heart twist itself in his chest.

_Was it his fault for pushing this O’Driscoll job?_

He had thought Arthur had took off on his own, he so often did and would be found days later halfway across the country camping in some field somewhere, cooking meat as if this was a boy scouts excursion. 

After Javier finished singing and retired for the night and almost everyone else followed suit, Micah edged his way to Arthur’s tent that was dimly lit by a lantern. 

He could see Arthur shifting uncomfortably on his cot, could hear him moaning in pain. Miss Grimshaw had removed his union suit and dressed his wounds in the way only a mother could. He wore clean clothes now but his shirt lay open so it was easier to tend the injuries that littered his chest and torso. 

Tilly Jackson was taking care of Arthur that night. She sat by his side, a book slipping out of her hand as she nodded off. She shook herself awake as Micah drew closer.  
“What you want?” She asked him, her bright eyes looking up at Micah, her brows narrowed with suspicion but she spoke quietly as to not wake Arthur.

“I just… Uh… How is he?” Micah asked awkwardly.  
Tilly frowned further. “What you mean?” She asked defensively, crossing her arms across her small frame in an almost menacing manner.  
Micah swallowed and lowered his voice, aware that there were still some stragglers by the fire. “How is he?” Micah repeated, gesturing to Arthur and not meeting Tilly’s eye.  
Tilly looked from Arthur to Micah then back to Arthur again.  
"As you can see, he's not in a good way. They hurt him real bad - he's been shot in the shoulder and… well you can see the rest."

That Micah could see quite clearly. He’d never seen Arthur looking so _frail_. The bright, purple bruises flowered down his torso that contorted as Arthur writhed in his restless sleep. 

Tilly followed Micah’s gaze. “It’s the fever,” she explained, pressing a cold compress to Arthur’s forehead. His eyes opened, bright and unfocussed, looking past Tilly. “Hopefully it’ll pass soon. Don’t want him to get an infection.”

Arthur mumbled incoherently and reached out. Tilly caught his hands and spoke to him gently now. “Hush now, you’re alright, Arthur.”  
“Gotta tell Dutch..!”  
“It’s ok. It’s ok.” Tilly cooed, “everything’s ok.”  
Arthur’s head lolled back and he groaned in what seemed like pain but his eyelids fluttered shut again and he slept more. 

“Is he gonna be ok?” Micah asked Tilly.  
Tilly looked back up at Micah. He didn’t think he’d spoken much to Tilly, either. Like the rest of the women in camp, she was suspicious of Micah. “He’s a fighter,” Tilly told Micah simply. 

Micah knew that he was a fighter, but there’s a difference between fighting and surviving. 

****

Days turned into weeks and Arthur slowly began to recover. He spent a lot of his time resting in his cot, sleeping and waking up suddenly. Micah saw the wild look in his eye when he did so, confused, disorientated and frightened. 

Micah busied himself, going on a couple of robberies with Bill that paid relatively well. Dutch hardly noticed. Micah just wanted to take his mind off of things but every time he returned to camp, he was reminded that Arthur was hurt and it was his fault. His fault for listening to Pearson and for not doubling back to see whether Arthur really had taken off or not. 

Arthur hadn’t told anyone what had happened to him once the O’Driscolls had taken him. Micah shuddered when he thought about it. O’Driscolls were dumb as dogs but Micah knew that he didn’t fancy being in their lair alone.

From what they had all been able to piece together, the whole thing had been an elaborate - or about as elaborate as the O’Driscolls could get - plan to lure Dutch and the whole gang to the O’Driscolls in a bid to save Arthur. Colm knew that there weren’t many people left that Dutch held dear, he’d seen to that, and Arthur was one of them. Maybe once upon a time, Hosea would have been, too.  
The O’Driscolls had hoped to use Arthur as bait so that when the gang came tearing over to the O’Driscolls, the law would be waiting to capture them all. And it might have worked to a degree, Dutch surely would have been mad and he surely would have sent some people to fetch Arthur but maybe Dutch’s days of rescuing damsels in distress was behind him. 

Arthur managed to get up and walk around a little more as the days passed. He held the wound and moved stiffly but it was an improvement to being bedridden. 

It was early afternoon when Micah spotted Arthur sitting alone by his tent, looking into his shaving mirror. His beard had grown long again, longer even than how it had been at Colter. He’d lost weight, too and he was paler than Colter snow, too.

Micah had been wondering what to say to Arthur. Did he apologise? He’d heard Dutch’s half baked apology, assuring Arthur that he was coming for him - _yeah, right…_  
Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t talk. They had nothing to say. Micah was clutching at straws to make a flimsy conversation…

“You seem a little better,” Charles Smith said to Arthur.  
“Your harmonica playin’ don’t seem much better though,” Arthur joked.  
The pair laughed. Micah glared at them, watching how Arthur’s features softened again as he spoke to Charles who stood before him.  
“You alright?” Charles asked.  
“Yeah… I just… My beard. I look like I belong in the woods.”

Arthur moved his arm and winced, it was obvious he was in pain.  
“Why don’t you let me help you?” Charles said. His voice was more gentle now.  
Charles lathered up Arthur’s beard then took the straight razor and carefully began to shave him, pulling the skin taut and gliding the blade with the grain in one fluid motion.

Micah watched, a python stirring in the pit of his belly, hissing and spitting as it awoke and saw the scene unravelling before him. 

Charles touched Arthur’s face _tenderly_ , carefully bringing the blade across Arthur’s face. He used the cloth on Arthur's shaving table to wipe the blade down before starting on the other side. Micah saw how Arthur averted his gaze from Charles almost shyly in a way. The rest of the camp bustled on but Micah felt like he was frozen in time, watching this one superfluous yet intimate act. The pair smiled at each other as they spoke. Micah couldn't hear what was being said but he knew he hated it.  
Suddenly, something dawned on him. Something he should have noticed before and he didn’t know how the hell he hadn't seen it… 

Micah had been such a fool .

All those hunting trips… 

_“Rest up Arthur, you need it.”_

Micah had thought he and Arthur were something. But… What if it wasn’t just him that Arthur had _something_ with? Christ, did Charles know what he and Arthur had got up to? Did… Did Arthur and Charles laugh about him?

Micah felt sick. How many other people was Arthur _carrying on with_ from the camp?

Micah left the camp quickly, feeling that rage boiling over again. He rode recklessly until nightfall, almost as if he was looking for trouble and he knew deep down that he was.  
A nameless saloon. A faceless patron who said the wrong thing yet Micah couldn’t remember for the life of him what it was now. Micah beat the man until he felt his fists slicked with blood and could smell that familiar copper tang in the air.  
Before he knew it, other faceless men had descended upon Micah in a fit of rage, cursing him for beating their friend. This time, Micah was not so easy on them, he drew his guns and after he pulled the trigger once, it seemed like he couldn’t stop himself until he was the last one standing.

“What is this I hear about some maniac running around shooting up saloons?” Dutch asked him snappily the next day.  
“Ain’t got nothing to do with me, boss.” Micah lied.  
Dutch glared at him. “Do not test me, Micah. I am not in the mood to be tested.”

****

Rage was all Micah could remember from since he was young. He had been so angry at his mother for not being stronger against his daddy. He was angry at Amos for leaving him and of course, he had been so angry at his daddy for being the man he was.

Was Micah becoming that man, too? 

Usually, when the rage settled, it was like the world became clear again only this time it hadn’t. Micah could still see the way Arthur and Charles looked at each other and the python in his belly hissed again until he found himself striding over to Charles who was mending a wagon one afternoon.

Charles glanced up at Micah but didn’t greet him. _Self righteous prick._  
“Why don’t you make yourself useful, redskin and make me something to eat.” Micah found himself saying to Charles.  
Charles froze, his long dark hair was covering his face as he worked and Micah couldn’t read the expression he wore. “Excuse me?”  
Charles stood up now, drawing himself to his full height. He was at least ten years younger than Micah and a good ten pounds lighter too. He was muscular, strong and fit. Part of Micah could see why Arthur would prefer Charles.

“You heard me.” Micah snarled, shoving Charles’s shoulder as he spoke. 

With a sharp yell of fury, Charles had grabbed Micah by the collar of his shirt and threw him; before he knew it, he was lying on his back in the dusty dirt of the camp, coughing and spluttering.

“Eat that”, Charles growled at him before storming away. 

Micah chuckled to himself, what a fool he’d been. _What a damn fool he’d been._

The next thing he knew there were hands on him again, dragging him up off of the floor. Part of him wondered whether it was Charles back for round two but he was met with the sight of Arthur. Since coming back, he wore his sky blue shirt again, the black one must have been lost or wrecked by the O'Driscolls. Micah hated himself for thinking how this shirt complimented Arthur's eyes. 

“What you lookin at cowboy?” Micah asked him. He wanted to be mad at Arthur, for letting Arthur do this to him - letting him _care_ or think he cared about something, someone, for the first time since he could remember. But he couldn’t. God damn it, he couldn’t. 

“What in the hell are you doin?” Arthur bit.  
“I was just makin’ polite conversation.” Micah drawled, elongating the word _conversation._  
“Shut up,” Arthur hissed. He pulled Micah away from the prying eyes of the camp, most of which had stopped what they were doing in order to gawp at what had just happened. Sure, angers flared in camp but not usually Charles’s.. 

“You are not to talk to Charles like that, y’hear me?” Arthur hissed.

Micah laughed now. What the hell was wrong with him? Why the hell had he thought this had ever meant something? Why the hell had he longed to be close to Arthur, to kiss and hold him like they were lovers in some dumbass dime romance novel? Why had he allowed himself to do all those _things_ with him? His head showed him an awful flashback of being on his knees in front of Arthur up in that cabin and he shuddered. _What was wrong with him?!_

Arthur was still talking to him, shaking him. “Are you outta your mind?”  
“Oh, I must’a been, cowpoke.” Micah told him, voice low and dangerous now, pulling himself away from Arthur and out of his grip. “Now I see what you been doin’ and I think I must’a been outta my mind all along.”  
Arthur frowned, “what you talkin’ ‘bout?”  
“I seen you two together, real damn cosy.”

Arthur blinked at Micah. “I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout.”  
“Sure. Whatever you say, sweetheart. I ain’t fallin’ for it no more. Who else, huh?” Micah asked, his voice cracking in a way he hadn’t intended, “Javier? He’s feminine lookin’. Or do ya prefer ‘em big like ol’ Bill? Heard he’s a pillow biter too-”

Arthur shoved Micah now. He may have been still recuperating but he was strong regardless.  
“You watch your goddamn mouth!”  
“I seen you and Smith,” Micah continued, spitting Charles’s name as if it were poison, “I ain’t a fool!”  
Arthur blinked. “Me… And Charles?” There was silence for a moment and then Arthur’s face broke out into a broad grin. He laughed. “You think me an’ Charles are… Like _that_?”

Micah felt his cheeks burn, didn’t appreciate Arthur laughing at him.  
“I seen you.” Micah repeated, realising how he sounded like a petulant child.  
“There ain’t nothin’ to see,'' Arthur scoffed. He faltered before saying, “are you.. Jealous of Charles?”

“Horse shit!” Micah snapped but his cheeks were hot and his eyes bright with embarrassment.  
Arthur lowered his voice, his smirk wavering, and he said seriously, “Micah… I ain’t… There ain’t nothing goin’ on between me and no one else.”  
Arthur remained standing close. His hands moved as if he wanted to lift them to Micah but he hesitated. Micah shied away. He felt so stupid yet he enjoyed having Arthur’s attention like this. He liked being close to Arthur, regardless of the circumstance. 

For the past few weeks he’d pined so bad for Arthur, not that he’d ever admit it. He hated not being able to go to his tent like the others to see if he was ok. He hated that when Arthur sat up for the first time, it wasn’t him he searched for but Dutch. He hated that this was his fault; life turns on a dime and you can’t always predict what will happen, Micah always knew that. But this was the first time in a long time that Micah had felt guilty for something he had done. 

Micah walked away. Arthur called after him. Micah wished he hadn’t wanted to turn back so badly. 

****

He had just turned seventeen when his brother, Amos, left. 

“Take me with you,” Micah had said to Amos, almost pleading. He couldn’t be left alone with their daddy. First their mama gone and now Amos… Micah would be all alone.

“You can’t come!” Amos had spat at him, “I’m gonna make a new life, jus’ me an’ Daisy.”

Daisy, his girl. Micah had met Daisy just once and she wasn’t a nice woman. She treated Amos like a fool and maybe he was one for proposing to the first woman who would have him. “Ain’t no room for you third wheelin’!”

Micah knew that it wasn’t just about Amos wanting to start a new life, just him and his fiancée; Amos was still angry with Micah. He was still angry that Micah hadn’t tried to help him when their daddy turned on him, putting his large hands around the teen’s windpipe, choking him until his face went as bright red as a tomato.  
Micah didn’t remember what had made their daddy fly into such a rage - usually it didn’t take much or anything at all. Micah had watched on in pure horror, knew he couldn’t wrestle their daddy off of his brother and if he did by some miracle, Micah Bell II would come for him, too. Micah had been a skinny kid and not strong at all. A far cry from the man he was now.

There was scarcely a year separating Micah and his younger brother Amos and they had grown up close. When their daddy had an outburst, Micah and Amos had each other to confide and find comfort in. The first time Amos had seen their daddy hit their mama until she lay on the kitchen floor, bleeding and unable to get back up, he had gone to his big brother for comfort and Micah was there for him. It had always been like that and now Amis wanted to leave.

Micah often lay in bed thinking about the stories of gunslingers he read in penny magazines, who rode all over the country - fearless and free. That would be Amos and him, one day. 

But now… Now Amos was leaving him. 

“Good riddance,” Micah’s daddy had hissed when he found Amos’s bed unslept in, his belongings gone and a note left on his pillow. “He was always weak. Just you and me now, boy.” 

He crumpled the letter in his fist without reading it and tossed it into the fire.

Micah had wished it hadn’t been so. He wished so hard… If Amos had still been with them then maybe things would have turned out different. Maybe none of this would even have happened.

More likely, Amos and Micah would both have been killed at the hands of their daddy.

The barn door was warm beneath his hands and he rested them there for a moment, not wanting to see what was beyond. He knew what was in there; who was in there. The rancher and his wife. Micah could still hear her screams, gurgling like water from a spring, see blood gushing uselessly between her fingers. 

The doors swung open but Micah woke himself up before he saw that familiar scene before him.

****

Micah woke with a jolt. Dutch had stalked over to where he was reclining on a chair with his feet up and pushed his feet off of the table. He wasn’t sure if Dutch was still angry about the O’Driscoll fiasco or not. 

A couple of days had passed since the altercation with Charles and Micah had seen Arthur glancing at him but he’d also seen him sitting with Charles, giggling and nudging each other like a pair of kids in short trousers. 

It was over, Micah had decided when he walked away from Arthur. Whatever it had been between Arthur Morgan and him was finished. There had seemed to be little time to worry about any of it as Dutch had been pushing them on with work. Bill and Tilly robbed a stagecoach, not the most likely of duos but the managed. Sean and Arthur burnt down the Gray’s tobacco fields. Or was it the Braithwaites? They all seemed the same to Micah. 

“The Grays and Braithwaites thing needs more time before we can get a pay-out.” Dutch told Micah matter-of-factly. “Why don't you go find some other opportunities in this hellhole. And take Arthur too.”  
Arthur looked up from where he sat with Hosea. “Me?”  
“You keep tellin’ me you wanna get back out there don't you?” Dutch replied, “and you did so well with that tobacco field…”

Both Arthur and Micah were powerless to argue with Dutch. 

It was awkward, that much was true. Micah didn’t really have much to say now and Arthur, well he was never one for words.

They did as they were instructed, looking for ways to make money however Micah had come to the conclusion that there was very little money to be had out this way - this was why people travelled west. They ran into an old farmhand who talked about some cattle could be rustled but Micah was no cattle rustler. They spoke to someone else who said that the Rhodes bank was an easy target. Arthur scoffed and said he wasn't in any shape to be robbing banks any time soon. 

Clouds gathered over head as they rode around almost hopelessly together, hardly speaking and not even looking at each other. It felt like there was a dreadful tension between them that Micah had no idea how to disperse or whether he even wanted to anymore. An elephant in the room.

When Micah stole a glance at Arthur on his horse, he could see that the younger man looked tired. The colour still hasn't returned to his face and Micah couldn't tell if the sweat on his brow was due to the Lemoyne heat or because Arthur wasn't quite up to being out and about just yet.

'You, uh, alright there cowpoke?" Micah asked gingerly, his voice gravelly from not using it for a short while.  
"I'm fine," Arthur grunted but he didn't seem it. Maybe the tobacco fields and now this was too much for him.  
Thunder rumbled in the distance and Micah could smell rain on the breeze. In the field they were riding past was a dilapidated looking barn. "Why don't we go in here, it's gonna rain soon enough and you can rest up?" Micah suggested.  
"I don't need no rest." Arthur replied quickly.  
Micah sighed, "well you ain't lookin' too good, sweetheart so maybe just listen to me for once?"

Arthur looked over at Micah now too and their eyes met. Arthur's expression was soft. Micah felt his heart thud in his chest. Against his better judgement, Arthur nodded. Micah lifted the wooden plank that held the door shut for Arthur who went inside, followed by Micah.

The barn was indeed disused, empty aside from some long forgotten bales of straw and a small table and broken chair. Arthur went to the straw and Micah could hear that he struggled for breath. He winced as he lowered himself down.

"Does it… Does it hurt?" Micah asked hesitantly.  
Arthur shrugged, "I've been shot at before."  
"But have you actually been shot before?"  
"Not really. Tend to keep myself outta trouble enough to have avoided being shot until now…"

Arthur sighed as he leaned back, closing his eyes. Micah watched him, hovering awkwardly by the door. The heavens opened and rain began to pour as if there was someone throwing buckets of water at him. Micah closed the door quickly behind him and went to the table, perching on it as Arthur groaned quietly to himself, gently touching the gunshot wound on his shoulder.

"I… I didn't know what was going to happen to you, y'know." Micah found himself saying. He'd been thinking it long enough, thinking how best to address it, how to tell Arthur that had he known something like this would happen, maybe he'd have told Pearson to drop it. "It was Pearson's idea..!"

It had sounded better in his head. 

Arthur smirked, eyes still closed. "No one's blamin' you, if that's what you're worried about."  
"I… I just… I didn't know you would get hurt, Morgan." Micah felt the heat rising in his cheeks and was glad Arthur didn't see.

"If that's your way of apologisin', I accept."

Micah didn't say anything for a few moments then offered out his water canteen to Arthur. "Maybe you should drink some."  
Arthur's brilliant blue eyes opened now, frowning at Micah. "I ain't no invalid."  
Micah glared back at Arthur, putting the canteen down on the table with a clank. "Good. Because I certainly ain't no nurse maid."  
Arthur chuckled, "you certainly ain't that." 

Micah wrinkled his nose. How was it that one moment, he wanted to feel Arthur in his arms, weight and warmth pressed against him yet, the next minute, he wanted to punch him in the pompous face?

The sky had blackened and lightning danced between the dark grey clouds. The air was heavier and thicker than ever before, as the rain cascaded down the smell of greenery, of pollen and tree bark filled Micah's lungs. It would be calming but Micah had never liked the rain; made the world feel melancholy and made him think about things he kept pushed down for years.  
The rain continued to pour well into the evening. Arthur fell asleep at some point but Micah stayed staring out of the window, into the field and the trees beyond. He watched as foxes and deer darted to find shelter. Weren't we all just trying to find shelter from something?

Arthur made a sound over on the straw. Micah turned his gaze to him now, feeling almost silly but when he was like this, Micah could watch him without the fear of being caught. He thought about their argument at Clemens Point.

_There ain’t nothin’ going on between me and no one else._

Did Micah really believe that? The way Arthur looked at Charles… Well he’d never seen Arthur look at anyone like that before. Never seen anyone look at anyone like that before. 

Arthur coughed a little as he stirred and sat up. Micah looked away. Arthur groaned again. He cursed faintly. “Shoulda left me t’ die over with them O’Driscolls,” he said bitterly to himself.

“What crap you talkin’ ‘bout now, cowpoke?” Micah asked, eyes reverting back to the rain falling outside the window.  
“M’gettin’ old.” Arthur grumbled. “Not as fit as I once was.”  
“Bullshit. You’re as fit as ten butcher’s dogs,” Micah replied quietly.  
Arthur heard and smiled weakly. “Startin’ to realise that, well, I used to be the prized pony. Now I’m jus’ a workhorse. Soon enough, I’ll be put out to pasture.”

Micah rolled his eyes. “Christ alive, Morgan. Ya think yer the only person who ever had bad shit happen to ‘em?”  
Arthur glared at Micah. “Shut up.”  
“It’s true. You act all surly like you the only person who's ever had a tough life.”

Arthur folded his arms, turning his gaze to follow Micah’s out of the window, the glass rattled in the pane as the wind whipped against it. Micah had never told anyone what he was about to tell Arthur. He didn’t even know why he was saying it. But somehow, with Arthur he didn’t feel afraid to talk. Felt almost comfortable. He wasn't sure whether that was a mistake, especially after their argument. 

“Had me a girl once,” Micah said after a long silence, after an internal debate on whether he should even say any of this. He didn’t sound like his usual self, almost as if he wasn’t talking at all, rather someone else. “Amy, she was called. Prettiest thing you ever did see, red hair like fire and she was feisty, too. I weren’t always a good man to her, not to begin with - we was just kids really… But then she got sick or so we thought. She was nauseous and tired all the time but then she didn’t get her monthly….Started gettin’ bigger and the doc said she was with child.”

Arthur's eyes rested on Micah. Micah doubted he had spoke this frankly to him, or anyone really. 

“I didn’t know what to do. I weren’t ready to be a father but seein’ her like that… Needin’ me, belly all swollen because o’ me and my baby bein’ in there… Made me feel different.” He paused, watching the rain fall from the sky fast and heavy. “One day there was a snowstorm, just like the one in the mountains. We was stuck up in our cabin for a few days. She started labourin’... She was in so much pain an’ I couldn’t do a thing for her. She was cursin’ me, callin’ me every name under the sun, sayin’ it was my fault ‘cause I did this to her…” The sides of Micah’s mouth twitched with a fond smile but it soon vanished.

“She gave me a baby boy. Micah Bell IV she wanted to call him. I don’t know… I didn’t want him to be named after my daddy. I wanted to call him Samuel or maybe Joshua. Only… Only he weren’t cryin’ when he came out. His skin was blue like he’d been sat out in the snow himself… Amy, she were cryin’ real bad, hollerin’ at me to warm him up in the hopes of gettin’ him breathin’ but…”

Micah stopped talking. Arthur looked away from Micah, not sure if he wanted to hear the rest because he feared he knew it already. 

“I seen my fair share o’ dead people over the years and I knew he weren’t gonna breathe. His little eyes were closed like he were just sleepin’... But o' course he weren't. Never felt pain like that before. I couldn’t bury him til the next mornin’ when the storm blew over. We held him all night, didn’t feel right to put him down on his own. Went out at first light and buried him on one o’ the hills so he had a nice view… Worst thing I’ve ever had to do and I done some bad stuff over the years."

Micah paused again before continuing. He hadn't thought about Amy or the baby in many a year. Sometimes, the smallest thought would flit through his mind, like a crack of light leaking through a door left ajar but he would slam the door shut, not wanting to remember. Sometimes he'd look at Jack - his boy would be older than him now. He'd watch how Marston would ignore the boy and he felt a jealous resentment bubble in the pit of his belly. People like Marston didn't deserve a boy of he couldn't even be bothered to take care of him.  
On those nights where Micah left the door open, let the memories trickle through, let himself think, he'd wonder how things would be now - him, the boy and Amy. Maybe they'd still have that cabin. Maybe Micah wouldn't have fallen in with gangs and been the father he wished he'd always had to the son he never had.

“It broke Amy. She weren’t my girl no more. She was a ghost. Didn’t talk no more, cried all the time and never left the cabin. Blamed herself, she said there was somethin’ wrong with her like she was cursed. Doctor said it was to be expected, losin' a baby like that. Grief-stricken."

Micah's pale eyes watered and he blinked the tears away quickly. He knew Arthur must have seen but he didn't say anything.

"Anyway, I went huntin’ one day and when I got back, she was gone. My guns was gone too… I knew what she did, didn’t need to see but I thought I could get to her in time… Went to where the baby was buried and sure enough she was there on the ground… All this blood in the snow an’ in her hair… Ended up buryin' her, too."

Arthur swallowed. “Micah… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”  
Micah shrugged. “You’re the only person I ever told.”

Arthur stayed staring at him. Micah felt strange, exposed for telling Arthur that. He couldn’t deny that since seeing Clint again who had mentioned her, Amy had been on Micah’s mind again and the baby. Those memories he wished he could shake...  
They say your past catches up with you eventually. Micah didn't know what that meant and he didn't want to find out.

“W-we should probably get some rest.” Micah said, changing the subject now. “It’s night.”  
“You gonna sleep like that?” Arthur asked, gesturing to where Micah was sitting.  
“I’ll keep watch here. I’ll wake you when it’s your turn.”  
“Nonsense. Who’s lookin’ for us out in this?” Arthur asked, nodding to the window where rain ran down the pane and distorted the view to outside.  
“Maybe the O’Driscolls wanna come and finish the job,” Micah suggested, gesturing back to Arthur.  
Arthur smiled weakly. “Sure.” 

Micah didn’t move, stayed sitting by the window as Arthur shifted to lie down.  
“I never see you sleepin’,” Arthur said to him. “What you stay up all night doin’ anyway?”  
Micah smirked, “wouldn’t you like t’ know, cowpoke.”

With that, Arthur lay down and it went quiet in the barn again. 

****

Micah closed his eyes for what seemed like a few seconds. He saw his hands on the flaked red paint of the barn door.  
_Drip, drip, drip._  
His fingers ran through soft, red hair.  
_Drip, drip, drip._  
Scarlet red blood stained the snow.  
_Drip, drip, drip._  
Crimson red blood gushed through the fingers of the rancher’s wife and splattered on the floor.  
_Drip, drip, drip._

He started awake. 

Silence in the barn apart from the _drip, drip, drip_ from the rain on the roof and onto the windowsill. Micah’s body prickled with sweat. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep but it was still dark out and the rain still splashed down. 

"Micah?"

He felt eyes on him. Arthur was sitting up but he couldn’t tell if he faced him or not. In the darkness of the barn he could just make out his silhouette and nothing else. 

"I think you was havin' a bad dream." Arthur said.  
Micah didn't reply. Didn't know how. He'd already overshared for the day. He shrugged but didn't know if Arthur could see. The moonlight filtered through the window and onto Micah just enough to outline him to the younger man.

“You know,” Arthur said into the darkness after a long silence, “there really ain’t nothin’ goin’ on between me an’ Charles.”

Why was Arthur telling him this all of a sudden? Did Arthur want to keep Micah sweet as some sort of play thing for when Smith wasn’t around? Or maybe this was part of it, part of Arthur and Smith laughing at him - at how gullible and foolish he was. 

“Ain’t none of my business,” Micah replied bluntly. 

Silence in the barn.

_Drip, drip, drip._

“Micah…” Arthur’s voice was quiet, almost sounding vulnerable. “I…”  
Micah squinted into the darkness, he could see the outline of the other man but couldn’t make out his face. 

_Drip, drip, drip._

“You’re right, it ain’t none of your business.” Arthur said finally. “But… I’m tellin’ you because… Well, because…”

Arthur couldn’t seem to find the words and maybe he didn’t need to because Micah understood the tone in his voice - desperate and afraid. _If this was so wrong why did it keep happening?_

Micah went to where Arthur was and found himself kneeling beside him. He could see Arthur’s eyes shining in the darkness now, his expression unreadable.  
“I don’t know what this is.” Arthur told Micah. “But I keep thinkin’ about it. Keep thinking about us.”  
“Morgan…?”

What was he saying?

_Drip, drip, drip._

Hesitantly, Arthur moved his hand to touch Micah’s. Micah didn’t pull away, if anything he drew closer. He knew what was going to happen and he wouldn’t stop it if it did. 

And of course it did.

With nothing but the rain outside and their hearts beating fast between them like butterflies trapped under a glass dome, Micah reached for Arthur and Arthur didn't flinch away. This time their kiss was slower. Micah felt every inch of it and tasted every part of Arthur’s mouth. He sighed Arthur's name into his mouth.

Arthur's hands cupped Micah's face then slid down his chest until they found the buttons of his shirt. Arthur made light work of them and Micah did the same. He pushed Arthur’s sky blue shirt off of his shoulders and revealed Arthur's defined torso covered in light downy hair but also the reminders of his ordeal with the O’Driscolls. Micah let his fingers brush against the bruises lightly, Arthur trembled.

“Does it hurt?” Micah asked.  
Arthur shook his head.

Everything Micah had thought the past few weeks, the guilt, jealousy and fleeting hate dissipated, washed away with the rain and as his fingers tangled with Arthur's shaggy hair, he forgot everything but the insatiable need for Arthur Morgan. 

And then he was lying in the straw with Arthur, the pair entwined, fingers working away at buttons and fastenings until they were both all but bare. Micah felt himself flush when Arthur drew back to look at him. Micah’s body wasn’t taut like Arthur’s but pale and loose in the wrong places. He looked away, almost embarrassed for Arthur having to see it. He moved to cover it but Arthur held him by the wrist. “Don’t.” He said gently.  
Arthur’s hands roamed and his lips kissed Micah in places he’d long since forgotten. Micah shivered and sighed against Arthur. Micah kissed and touched back in earnest, delighting in how Arthur moaned softly in response. He wished this didn't have to end and a part of him told him that it didn't have to, not as long as they were in the barn away from the camp, away from the rest of the world. 

Micah’s breath hitched at the sensation of Arthur’s erection rubbing against his own just like before but somehow different. This time there was no urgency and Arthur didn’t smell like liquor. It was different in every way yet felt familiar and safe. Arthur huffed as their hips rocked against the other’s, the friction making them shiver and groan, their bodies moving in unison like one. Arthur kissed Micah's throat, his neck, he groaned into Micah's ear, losing himself completely, enrapured in velvet lust.

Arthur let himself be pushed down onto the ground, Micah above him, breathing heavy, eyes hazy with intent.

There was a moment, a beat where their eyes locked. Micah wondered if Arthur had done this before. His eyes shone up at Micah, cheeks flushed. He didn’t need to say anything, legs parted and Micah between them; Micah knew what he wanted but for some reason, he found himself hesitant. Hesitant in case this was all a prank, in case Arthur recoiled in disgust. But he didn’t, he looped his arm around Micah’s neck to pull him down into a kiss, hands on the back of his head, pressing their lips together in a way Micah had never been kissed before. Then he let Micah settle between his legs. 

"A-are you sure?" Micah asked in spite of himself.  
Arthur nodded shyly in response.

Micah reached down now and stroked his length that was already achingly hard. “Do you have any… Anything to make it easier?” Micah asked.  
Arthur shook his head. “S’fine.”  
“You sure?”  
Arthur nodded again. “Jus’ do it.” His cheeks pinkened.

Micah didn’t need much encouragement. He swallowed and turned his attention to the younger outlaw lying beneath him. He knew Arthur would look like this, perfect in a way. His body looked like it had been created by a sculptor, it was a cliché and Micah knew that even as he thought it. His hand caressed from Arthur’s throat, down teasing his nipples so he quaked, along his firm stomach and then took Arthur’s thick, hard cock in hand.

Arthur hissed and let his hips buck. His eyes closed and Micah stroked him slowly as he lined himself up with the younger man’s entrance. He used spit to slick his middle and forefinger in order to circle Arthur’s hole and then carefully push inside. He knew spit wouldn’t help as much as a lubricant but it was better than taking him completely dry.

Micah pushed his fingers in slowly, watching Arthur beneath him intently, how his eyes closed tight, nose scrunched as he adjusted to Micah’s digits inside of him. It was hot, of course, and tight initially. Micah could feel the resistance and he pumped Arthur’s cock a little more firmly, almost encouragingly so.

“M-Micah…” Arthur whispered.  
“You're doin' so good, Arthur.” Micah breathed back.

Arthur tensed and hissed, body twisting in a mixture of discomfort but also forbidden pleasure. His hips found a rhythm: up into Micah’s grip and down onto his fingers. Thighs shook, torso tightened and he let out a moan, loud and uninhibited. He didn’t bite back or stifle himself. He let his body move freely, let Micah take control of his pleasure. It was hypnotising to watch.

Micah took his fingers out of Arthur and stroked himself quickly again, not knowing how long he could wait. Arthur’s bright eyes watched, his breathing shallow and fast in juxtaposition to Micah who pushed in slowly, breathing even. His entrance clamped down on Micah, white hot heat engulfing him. 

Arthur reached up, laying a hand on Micah's thigh. Micah stilled, eyes greedily watching Arthur try to calm himself until he relaxed around him. Those blue-green eyes met Micah's. He nodded again. Micah moved still slowly, pressing in, letting himself be enveloped by Arthur's burning tight, heat. Arthur allowed Micah to sink deeper and deeper still into him. The pressure, the firm, solid grip around Micah's cock was enough to make Micah see stars.

He couldn’t suppress a sigh at the sensation - sweet relief that he hadn't known he needed.

When Arthur felt relaxed beneath him, Micah began to find his pace. Gentle and slow at first, feeling Arthur flutter and clench around him until he made a sound - a whimper.

"Does- Does it hurt?"  
"S’fine," Arthur said through gritted teeth, "move."  
Micah didn't need to be told. He began to thrust shallow but then began to delve deeper and deeper, relishing the sweet, sweet sounds that fell from Arthur’s plump lips. Arthur wrapped his thighs around Micah’s waist to anchor him, to move in time with him. 

It didn't feel too different from a woman, tighter maybe, the ridges inside Arthur felt rougher, provided more friction that sent sparks of pleasure the length of Micah’s shaft, made his orgasm coil in the pit of his belly all too soon. The harder Micah drove into the younger man, the more he could feel his walls, his hole pulsating around Micah's cock, the more Micah thought he’d explode.

Micah felt like he was losing his mind, Arthur beneath him gasping at each snap of his hips, cursing and panting, trying to stop himself screaming - it was so much more than how Micah could ever have imagined it.

Suddenly Arthur cried out, his hand reaching up to Micah's chest to still him again and Micah felt Arthur clench around him hard.  
Micah looked down at Arthur's face, tears glassy in his large eyes and pupils dilated.

"Did I hurt you? You want me to stop?"  
"N-no. It's ok… I… I like it." Arthur replied quietly, looking away from Micah as the flush on his face reached his neck and ran down to his chest.

Micah placed his hands on Arthur’s hips and took a steady pace, wanting to close his eyes to savour this, to make it last as long as possible but he also wanted to see Arthur beneath him, coming undone, cock leaking with pre come. Arthur stroked himself and soon enough, he trembled, his eyes unfocussed, his insides contracted and he let out a strangled cry, spilling himself on his own stomach. He pulsed and shook writhing and shivering through his orgasm, gasping Micah's name. 

Micah leant down now, kissing Arthur hard as he came too, fingers digging into Arthurs hips, pinning Arthur down as he released inside, Arthur’s walls contracting and milking him until he slumped forward, panting and sweating and spent. 

He rolled over beside Arthur, the pair of them breathing heavy and coming down from their high for a few minutes. Then, they curled into each other, Arthur’s lips found Micah’s and they kissed again, this time more sloppily and sleepily. When they pulled away, Micah could see that Arthur was smiling blissfully. 

Micah felt himself smile too. 

The barn stilled again and the _drip, drip, drip_ from the roof lulled Micah into a light sleep.


End file.
